


i can be your new addiction

by literary_shitstorm



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Good Parent Maggie Tozier, Ice Hockey AU, M/M, Richie Tozier Has ADHD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_shitstorm/pseuds/literary_shitstorm
Summary: “It’s only once a week, we can do it at the library.”“Where’s that?”“You’re shitting me.”“Not in the slightest. Why the fuck would I go to the library? Is Google a joke to you?”Eddie sighed, taking a long sip from his coke and twirling the last of his spaghetti around his fork,“How about on Thursdays?”“Depends,” The smile on Richie’s face was positively scandalous, “Are you going to wear the slutty shorts?”
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 38
Kudos: 154





	1. Playing in the Sandbox

Eddie Kaspbrak’s life was simply one planned event leading to the next with absolutely no room for him to alter any of the plans that had been so meticulously set out for him from as far back as he could remember. Probably as far back as the night he’d been conceived.

He fucking _hated_ it.

It would be nice to remember a time where his life and everything in it had not seemed like a total and utter waste of time, a period where maybe his mother could have been happier and he’d had a firm but fair father to roughhouse with in the garden and sneak him snacks when his mother got angry- only she wouldn’t really be angry, she’d sigh to herself the moment he left the room and he’d peer from down the hallway only to see his father kissing his mother. Of course, he’d squeal because what five-year-old wants to see their parents kissing? But it would be sweet; he’d think about it later on in life when he got his first girlfriend, reminiscing about his parents being young and in love. He’d come back round for Christmas and they’d shower him in affection, taking his coat and his scarf and his mother would warm up his hands and he… _was really getting ahead of himself_. 

That was most definitely not the life of Eddie Kaspbrak.

His father had passed away long enough ago that the only memory that Eddie could muster was a vague, swirled outline of a man with a warm smile and sometimes, in moments of clarity, the same eyes as him staring back. Then again, he was half certain that the man that came to mind wasn’t his father, it was just a cookie-cutter figure of every generic male he had ever seen, but it was better than nothing.

Ever since then, his mother had been nothing but an overbearing gargoyle haunting over every move he made, glaring down upon him with her beady eyes that were _most definitely_ not his own, forcing him to countless doctors’ appointments. There wasn’t a week in the first 10 years of his life that he didn’t spend at least 4 hours in the ER, waiting for yet another doctor to give him a hazy (fake) diagnosis, waiting for his mother to undoubtedly scream at the poor bastard for saying that there was nothing they could do to help him, waiting for her to cry in the car on the way home as she gripped his wrist with enough force to bruise him. Then, she’d collapse on the couch and sleep until morning. To Eddie, that was normal.

As though it were yesterday, he can remember being 5 and playing with the diggers in the sandbox that was huddled in the corner of the playground. It had been a small, decrepit looking thing with equal parts mud and sand in it, and it would always make a gross squelching sound whenever you put any form of weight on it. The other kids hated it, they would squeal and groan and call him disgusting for ever wanting to go anywhere near the thing but that only made it all the better. It had been his safe place, a haven away from the ruckus of the other children and the overbearing teachers that reminded him all too much of the mother he was already desperate to escape. He remembers one Tuesday afternoon, sitting in _his_ sandbox out of the beating sun, he had scratched his arm on one of the old diggers and immediately blood had bubbled to the surface. It had ached ever so slightly at the time, but Eddie was a surprisingly robust child; he had just carried on and let the red mingle with the sand beneath his feet.

It was only when the teacher gasped as he took his seat in class that any dawning that something could have been wrong passed his mind; he’d realized that his blue shirt had become stained deep red and that there was a thick crust of blood that had dribbled its way onto the back of his leg, and of course, the cut on his arm squeezing out a fat droplet of blood every few seconds just to remind the world that it was still going. 

They had called his mother almost immediately and within minutes she had appeared in the reception, diving towards him and dragging him towards the car with his good arm wrapped in her claws. It had barely taken 10 minutes once they had gotten to the ER, it had only needed some antiseptic and a bandage. The doctor had smiled down at him as he wrapped the soft, white cotton around his forearm. _I guess you’re just a bleeder, Mister Kaspbrak_. He had offered him a lollipop as they left. His mother had thrown it in the trash the moment they got outside.

As soon as they made it through the front door, his mother had sat him down at the dinner table and brought out countless dusty medical books, screaming at him with tears in her eyes as she told him all the diseases and dysfunctions he could have gained from playing in the sandbox that day. He had been terrified, shrinking backwards as her voice got louder and louder in his eardrums. 

From that day forward, Eddie Kaspbrak didn’t play in the sandbox.

* * *

“Yes, mom, I’m fine,” Eddie huffed out between closed lips, crushing his forehead into his palm as the crackle of his mother’s shrill warnings echoed back and forth between his ears.

“Yes but Eddie Bear, you know how many pathogens there are in places like that, you could get sick and fall behind on your studies and that would be _awful_.” 

“Don’t worry, mom, I have my hand sanitizer in my bag.” Ben had guffawed at that, his textbook slamming shut as his fingers lost their grip and he brought his hands up to his face to muffle his laughter. Even the corner of Stan’s mouth began to quirk upwards despite his focus remaining on the words in front of him.

“Eddie Bear don’t be short with me-,” Before she could finish her sentence, he slammed down his mobile, groaning as he pushed his face into the textbook in front of him, Stan and Ben now both feeling relaxed enough to laugh freely at his suffering.

“What the fuck, guys? What the fuck is wrong with her?” Eddie said, scrubbing his palms over his eyes and taking a hefty gulp from his water- it’s important to stay hydrated, after all.

“Don’t put yourself down, Eddie, you’re pretty damn weird too. You weren’t lying about the hand sanitizer,” Stan quipped from his place across the table in his usual dry, heavy timbre.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Anyway…” Ben interrupted in barely a whisper, reeling from the glare that he was currently getting from the elderly librarian, “I guess we ought to go back to studying.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Ben was right; as much as Eddie enjoyed studying medicine it would be a lie to say that his Professor had been anything but the devil reincarnate. Sure, the man himself had confessed it was because Eddie was in the top percentage of his course nationwide, he made it his aim to push as hard as he could, confident that Eddie could be the next big mind of his field. 

That meant a hell of a lot of extra work though.

He’d read the content what felt like a thousand times, so much so that he could feel it trickling behind his eyelids the moment he tuned out. Bored out of his mind, he turned his attention to Stan, who was just as focussed as he always was, eyes drilling methodically over the words in the same cyclical process that seemed to work well for him. Every few seconds, a curl would swoop forward from behind his ear and without a second’s delay, his flat hand would pick up off the table and push it back again. After a while it became pretty mesmerizing, the continuity of it all. That was, until the person in question stared back at him with an almost cold expression in his eyes, his brows raised in what looked like a _pissed off_ question. Eddie couldn’t do much but huff and turn his attention to his laptop that sat closed on the other side of the table, dragging it over to him and opening it with a blunt snap.

He mindlessly scrolled through his emails, filtering through the campus articles, assignments and advertisements until his eyes met an aggressive set of bold letters spread across his screen:

**KASPBRAK: A GREAT CREDIT OPPORTUNITY  
FROM PROFESSOR THOMAS**

Wordlessly, he clicked on the email, horror building in his stomach as his eyes drank in the words. 

_‘Mr Kaspbrak,  
As I’m sure you’re aware, I am always eager for you to fill your time with any means to improve your academic studies and another opportunity has arisen from a colleague of mine who teaches Sports Science here on campus._

_Within her lectures and study groups, she has a student that is- not struggling per-se- but could do with some support with some of the biological theory that comes into play throughout the study. Naturally, during discussion, your name was brought up and I assured her that you would be willing to lend a hand with her student as there is an area of overlap on the courses that you take.  
Of course, this would not be without benefit to you, I assure you that it would be massively beneficial to your studies- nobody learns more than a teacher- and you would be given an abundance of extra credits for the time and work that you put it._

_The student in question is a Mr. Richard Tozier, I’ve included his profile below.  
I am sure that you will be thrilled with the opportunity._

_Sincerely,  
Professor Thomas_

_RICHARD TOZIER  
STUDENT ID: 09783  
MAJOR: AMERICAN LITERATURE  
MINOR: SPORTS SCIENCE’_

“Hey Stan, do you know who Richard Tozier is?” His voice was slightly raw from the tiny period of disuse, cracking with what could either be a second round of puberty or some weird jitters that had his toes curling in his shoes. 

“Richard Tozier, as in, Richie?” Stan replied, seemingly thrown off kilter by Eddie’s random questioning. 

“Uh, I guess…” He scrolled back down the email, “It says here that he minors in Sports Science but majors in American Lit, is he in your-,” 

“What do you want with Richie?” Stan now questioned eagerly, having been completely drawn from whatever work had previously kept his unconditional attention. 

“Professor Thomas just sent me an email. He wants to know if I would tutor him to do with some of the biology shit.” 

“Holy shit, Eddie, that’s incredible.” He drew back in shock as a quiet wheeze left his friends mouth, somewhat disturbed by the look of glee that was currently plastered over Stan’s face. 

“Why?” 

“Because you would fucking despise Richie Tozier. He’s like the personification of everything you hate.” 

“Are we talking about Trashmouth Tozier? As in the one on the Hockey Team with Beverly Marsh?” Ben added, twirling his pen between his fingers, “The infamously obnoxious one.” 

“Not everything is to do with _Beverly_ , Ben. But yes, _that Richie Tozier_.” Stan replied, choking slightly as he tried to lessen his giggles with a drink. 

“He’s a hockey himbo!” Eddie threw his hands up in defeat, eliciting another round of giggles from the table. 

“He’s actually very insightful.” 

“Really?” Eddie pried, the tiniest slither of hope creeping into his voice. 

“Oh yeah,” Stan snorted, “He called H.P Lovecraft a ‘great old racist bag of shit’ in his last presentation.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Ben added thoughtfully, “But I heard that he spray painted Professor Jones’ internet board in glittery pink,” He paused a second before his ears began to tinge red, “I also heard he gave one of the football jocks a blowjob in the supply closet in the cafeteria.” 

“I heard he slept with one of the cheerleaders in the science labs,” Stan mused. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie squirmed, dreading the contents of the email before him more with every word, “We have to do experiments and shit in there.” 

“Well, the least you could do is go down to the rink and meet him, right?” Stan had an unmistakable glint his in eyes that only appeared once in a blue moon- a look that could only mean pure mischief. 

_Damn you, Stanley Uris._

* * *

It took him 4 days to finally pluck up the courage to go anywhere within a mile radius of the ice rink with all its intolerable flags and banners that seemed to wilt pathetically with the lack of wind. By the time Stan had come home from the library to drive him, the sky had already become tinged with a quaint layer of dusty red that lit the streets in front of them in a pleasant hue. The street lights stood bold and tall above Eddie’s head, washing him in artificial light as he stood jittering and waiting for Stan to catch up. He wasn’t surprised when his friend brushed past him with all the nonchalance in the world, feet clicking on the concrete as he forced Eddie to follow in his wake. If he wasn’t so nervous about his impending introduction, he might’ve snapped back at Stan’s _‘we haven’t got all day’_ , but his chest felt far too tight as of current to even consider making the slightest of sounds. 

He waited in the reception as Stan signed them in and made sickeningly polite chit-chat with the girl behind the counter; Eddie could feel the cold beginning to seep in and claw its way up his fingers, sending chills that he could feel raking up every bone of his body. It was hard to ignore the demons that his mother had so forcibly inserted into his mind, the little chants of _hypothermia is a killer_ , Eddie and _ice is one of the biggest safety hazards, Eddie_. There was nothing he could do to draw himself away from the mindset, every thought was a maze that trailed back to fear and fear only. Constant, unbridled fear that crept up on him when he least expected it. 

“Ready, Eddie?” Stan’s voice was low with concern and he placed a delicate hand on Eddie’s shoulders, applying the smallest bit of pressure with his thumb and his forefinger in an attempt to bring his friend back from wherever his mind had wandered to, “You know you don’t have to do this, right? You can just tell Professor Jackass no.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he replied, blinking owlishly as the world regained some kind of focus (he’d never really stopped focussing but things seemed clearer once he re-joined Stan again). “What am I gonna do? Pussy out of _tutoring_?” 

“If its going to make your life a living hell, then yes.” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie snapped with a little more vigor than he’d previously planned, not missing the way Stan flinched, “Listen, I need to go and talk to him at some point anyway, right?” 

No more words passed between them as they slunk into the rink. If Eddie had been cold before he was freezing his balls off now, in spite of the layers he had put on in anticipation. The air seemed somehow thinner around him and every one of his breaths left soft clouds in place of where he had walked, his warm breath countering the bite of their surroundings. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what kind of _maniacs_ would inhabit a place like this, it seemed positively surgical with its harsh lights and sloping walls. 

The further he got inside the more he realized the place was _huge_. He’d been too caught up in nerves outside to fully appreciate the magnitude of the building- it was practically a stadium with stretching rows of seats that disappeared into the places where the light didn’t even touch. The rink itself was illuminated from below, the ice gleaming bright white and enlightening the rest of the building. From certain angles, Eddie could see the scrapes and indents in the ice from where countless skates had skidded and halted, casting a labyrinth of tiny shadows over the floor. 

At that very second, something burst past Eddie, the scatter of skates ringing aggressively in his ears. He quickly drew himself towards the glass, transfixed with equal parts horror and admiration for the figure that was catapulting their way around in circles, blitzing the rink beneath foot. Whenever he tried to focus on the movement it would shift, never staying still for more than a fraction of a second. Every so often, he could make out vague features: long limbs, a thick mop of black curls that whipped in opposing directions with every turn. There was an ingrained terror in Eddie, every logical part of him screaming that this was the most hazardous thing he’d ever seen and it was happening meters in front of him, but there was an indisputable part of his chest that seemed to swell as he watched the figure move. There was something beautiful about the sheer power of the crusade, the monstrous force that seemed to push the person that was minuscule in comparison. It looked freeing.  
Eddie caught a glimpse of the back of the jersey. 

_TRASHMOUTH, 69._

Oh god. 

“B-beautiful, isn’t it?” A smooth voice appeared beside him, leaning against the glass in a particularly playful stance. He paused for a second before holding his hand out, “No matter how much I p-play, I’ll never get s-sick of watching. B-bill Denbrough, Captain of the Ice Hockey Team.” 

Bill was probably the most textbook attractive person that Eddie had ever seen; he looked as though he had been torn straight from some teenage girls’ fashion catalogue. He had locks of reddish-blonde hair that brushed just ever so slightly above his blue eyes and beneath the padding, Eddie would guess that he was slender but muscular. If there was one thing that Eddie knew about hockey players, it was that they were muscular. But that was _only_ because Ben would flick over the sports channels sometimes when they were trying to find a movie to watch. Eddie had only looked out of innocent curiosity. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak, I’m a Med Student. Uh, my friend over there is Stan. Stanley Uris,” Eddie already wanted to punch himself just for opening his mouth, things always sounded way better in his head than they did when they hit the air. 

“We don’t get many Med s-students around here,” Bill twisted his head in mock confusion, “Can I ask w-what brings you t-to our fine est-ablishment?” 

“I need to talk to-,” 

“Is that Tozier?” Stan’s voice boomed out from a few meters further down the side of the rink, his hand spread carefully across the glass. 

“S-sure is,” Bill said cheerfully seconds before his expression was drawn into one of mild dismay, “HEY, RICHIE! W-WAIT- WHY T-THE FUCK AREN’T YOU WEARING A H-HELMET?” 

“FUCK YOU, BIG-BILL!” A cheery voice screamed back. 

“Always t-the t-thrill seeker,” Bill sighed fondly, “T-the rest of the t-team left not too long ago so if you w-wanted them they’ll be back to p-play tomorrow.” 

“Actually it’s…. Richard that I need to speak to,” Eddie muttered slowly, pointing vaguely to the figure who was now skating _backward_. To his surprise, Bill barked out a laugh and doubled over, blood rushing to his face. He even heard Stan stifle a giggle from his vantage point. 

“Richard? Christ, Eddie, I h-haven’t heard anyone call h-him that since day one,” Bill stopped once he noticed Eddie’s clear discomfort. _Thank fuck_. “Don’t worry about it, is it-t anything that I c-can help with?” 

“It’s about his work in Sports Science- his teacher asked for a tutor to be put in place and, uh, here I am?” 

“R-RICH! GET OVER HERE!” Eddie jumped in his skin at Bill’s holler, bracing himself as the figure skidded to a sharp halt and began to slide gracefully towards himself and the Captain, pulling his gloves off with his teeth leisurely. 

For the first time, he got a good look at Richie Tozier. He was much taller up close than he had seemed dancing around on the ice- and much broader. He stretched much taller and wider than Bill, practically dwarfing the Captain and Eddie himself. Tousled, wind-swept curls fell around his face in dark ringlets, a stark contrast from the sickly white of his skin. The faintest five o’clock shadow covered his jawline and spread upwards towards his cheekbones, highlighting the distinct sharpness of his features- _sharper than the blades he skated on_. Eddie would have said that he looked almost regal if not for the expression on his face: his eyes were filled to the brim with mischief and he had a lax smile that hung from his lips. Richie Tozier looked like _trouble_. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of thy company?” Richie’s voice came out smooth and flirty, amping up in the latter area as his eyes shamelessly scoured Eddie for the first time, “Oooh, new meat.” 

“Professor Thomas asked me to-.” Eddie began, desperate to try and stop the frustration creeping into his voice and begging for the red to stay low on his cheeks. 

“STANIEL? IS THAT YOU?” Richie’s roaring wail invaded his eardrums, causing him to pull away viciously. 

“Hey Richie,” Stan waved amusedly, seemingly unphased by the other boy’s antics, “You missed the lecture today.” 

“I was busy with important things,” Richie waggled his eyebrows, throwing a melodramatic wink in Eddie’s direction. 

“Ignore him, h-he’s an i-idiot.” 

“Oh Billy, you wound me!” Richie placed a hand over the wrong side of his chest and slid backward on his skates, “How could you betray your noble companion-“ 

“W-we get it Rich, no need to go w-waxing poetic.” 

“Anyway,” Eddie huffed out, wringing his hands together, “As I was saying, Professor Thomas-.” He could feel the burn beginning to tingle beneath his skin. 

“I must ask,” Richie slithered up beside him, only inches away from Eddie’s face, “What is your name, handsome?” 

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Now he was sure that his cheeks were blooming; he could practically feel the heat emanating off his face and he was positive that Richie could too, “Professor Thomas asked me to tutor you on parts of your Sports Science work.” 

“You’re not in my class.” 

“I’m a Med Student.” 

“Oh fuck,” The boy in question pulled away with a look as though he’d been shot, “Ouch, way to kill a guy’s boner.” 

“Beep, b-beep Richie,” Bill mumbled almost thoughtlessly. Something told Eddie that this was something that happened often. 

“Well, listen, Eds-.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie found himself snapping, completely at the end of his tether. 

“Okay, Eds,” He was completely indifferent and it was infuriating, “I’m going to uh, politely decline and suggest that we both save ourselves the trauma.” 

“It’s not a choice for you.” 

“In that case, I’m going to impolitely decline,” Richie began to twitch slightly, fidgeting from his place on the ice, “Fuck off.” 

“Shut up, R-Richie,” 

“Listen,” Richie blew a stray curl from around his face, running a hand through the tangles as he snatched Bill’s water bottle that had hung in his hand throughout their conversation. “Can I take you out to dinner? I know, I know. Not like that. It’s just that I’ve been here for hours and I’m absolutely fucking starving.” 

* * *

And that was how Eddie Kaspbrak had ended up in a retro diner sat across from Richie Tozier, who was making grotesque moaning sounds as he devoured his food. 

Begrudgingly, Eddie had waited in the reception for Richie to shower and pack up his shit, not particularly inclined to spend time in an enclosed space with a sweaty jock. The girl that had previously greeted them with warm smiles was now long gone and Eddie could see the inky sky that had fallen during their time inside. He had waved Stan and Bill off as the pair had left for the car park together, allowing a smile to form on his lips as he watched the Captain jostle his friend about a little bit. 

As he’d sat on his perch at the end of the reception’s- quite frankly, gross- couch, he’d found his eyes wandering to various different posters and awards that covered the walls in clusters, many of them gleaming gold in the moonlight that had invaded its way through the windows. Eventually, out of sheer boredom, he’d gotten up to pace around and read the plaques of achievement, cringing when he swiped his hand across one of them and it came away coated in dust. The only real victory was how much have of the stuff laid in thick layers over, seemingly, everything. _Dead skin cells, nice._

“You’re still here, sexy-Eddie?” A teasing voice broke him from his trance, causing him to leap in place, “I really thought you were going to leave.” 

It took Eddie a minute to readjust, seeing Richie without his gear on; he looked shockingly different despite only changing his attire. His curls hung limp and drenched, dripping onto his shoulders and leaving tracks down the back of the huge hoodie that swamped his figure- the pattern on it was borderline hallucinogenic, great swirls of yellow and green that made him glow in the darkness. Beneath the masses of insufferable fabric Eddie could see the burgundy sweatpants that hung low on his lips, pooling at his ankles and flowing over on top of his shoes. On his face there was a pair of thick rimmed coke-bottle glasses that had slipped down his nose, sitting skewed and uneven. It, all in all, was an absolute abomination of an outfit. 

“Don’t judge me by your own standards, Tozier,” Eddie spat, Richie’s smarmy tone bringing out the defensive in him, “Not all of us blow shit off just because we don’t want to do it.” 

“I can do much more than just blow shit off, thank you very much,” Richie bowed, _god fucking knows why_ , and winked shamelessly. Stan was right, this was the type of person that Eddie loathed. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Shocking, I know, but what can I say? I’m a giver,” Richie’s lips pulled into a Cheshire Cat grin, “No wait, that would be a lie.” 

“I really don’t care about your sex life, Tozier.” Richie seemed like an arrogant ass, so used to people fawning at his feet. _You’re so funny, Richie. You’re so handsome, Richie._ " 

“Who said anything about sex? You’re the one that made it about sex. You trying to tell me something, Eds?” 

_Give me a fucking break._

The car ride had been mostly silent on his part, no matter how much he seemed to snap at Richie for his incessant talking, the other just carried on rambling. Words fell out of his mouth in a constant stream, only interrupted when he would honk his horn viciously at other drivers and scream profanities at them out of the window. Eddie may have been royally pissed off at Richie’s antics, but he couldn’t help the part of him that found the madness endearing- intriguing even. The man had sat beside him, the embodiment of everything that he had been taught to avoid; Richie was honest though. Uncensored in a way that was like nothing he had ever seen before. Eddie had become used to people dancing around the facts, lying to him and influencing him, so much so that he couldn’t help but view Richie as a breath of fresh air- intolerable as he may be. 

It was no secret that playing hockey was hard work, even Eddie knew that, but when he had offered to pay out of the goodness of his heart he hadn’t quite expected the sheer amount of food that Richie would order. When the waitress had come over, Richie had happily listed off his two burgers, large fries and vanilla milkshake whilst Eddie just settled on his usual. 

“Spaghetti?” Richie choked on his drink, “What kind of batshit diner serves spaghetti?” 

“This one, obviously.” 

“It’s weird, but cute. Kind of like you, right Eds?” He clasped his hands together, visably delighted, “Oh, it’s perfect, Eddie Spaghetti. Oh, I fucking love it. I officially dub thee Eddie Spaghetti.” 

“You don’t get to give me a nickname. You don’t even know me,” Eddie had calmed down a little since leaving the rink, his tone a little lighter. Any of the residual panic he had felt upon first meeting Richie had dispersed as he realised that the man was a total and utter clown. 

“But I’d like to. I’d like to get to know you _very_ well,” Richie moved his eyebrows from left to right, wiggling them in all sorts of random directions. He seemed to recoil in surprise when Eddie barked out a laugh. 

“God fucking damnit,” He slammed his fist on the table, “I left my slutty shorts at home.” Eddie relished the look on Richie’s face as his features drew into a look of pleased surprise; he leant forward far more interested in the conversation. 

“Slutty shorts? My, my, Edward, what would your mother say?” The face Richie pulled reminded him of one of those pathetic teachers at school, the ones who would stare at you with a disappointed glance, who you’d laugh at the moment that they turned their back. 

“She’d tell me to wrap my legs in bandages to avoid grazes.” 

“No can do, I’d definitely have to put a few grazes on those knobbly knees of yours.” Eddie choked on his coke, throwing his body forward into a fit of wracking coughs. 

“My knees are not-,” Within seconds, both of them descended into laughter, gasping and wriggling as they filled the otherwise peaceful diner with the sounds of their snorts. Eddie couldn’t help but wheeze at the way that Richie seemed to clap like a seal as he laughed, swaying from side to side. 

“Christ, Eds. Here I was thinking that you were some teacher’s pet, you know, the kind that is constantly up the Professors’ pussy-,” 

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Eddie smiled sickeningly, “I most definitely am. We still have to talk about your tutoring.” 

“Oh fuck, back at it again with the boner-killing, Kaspbrak!” Richie groaned and threw his head back against the booth. 

“It’s only once a week, we can do it at the library.” 

“Where’s that?” 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“Not in the slightest. Why the fuck would I go to the library? Is Google a joke to you?” 

Eddie sighed, taking a long sip from his coke and twirling the last of his spaghetti around his fork,  
“How about on Thursdays?” 

“Depends,” The smile on Richie’s face was positively scandalous, “Are you going to wear the slutty shorts?” 

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak sat in the library on Thursday and Richie never came. 


	2. Playing With Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: there's some homophobic language in this...just fyi

Even a week after Richie had agreed to meet him in the library, Eddie could feel his blood simmering at any given moment, furious that Richie had _stood him up_. Just when he’d felt himself beginning to warm up to the enigmatic stranger, he had vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but frustration and upset. He had put hard work into that session; fucking hell, neither of them had wanted to do it but at least Eddie had the decency to show his face and act like a civilized person. The logical part of his brain told him that he was being irrational, he should have known the moment that he met someone like Richie that it was in his nature to not give a shit- but he couldn’t help but feel hurt. The time that they had spent with each other in the diner had flown, hours spent until they were kicked out, laughing and giggling as though they were children on some ungodly sugar high. 

He felt like they’d clicked. Obviously not.

It was ridiculous. He didn’t know Richie; he was the dangerous, intimidating outsider that his mother had warned him about for years, the kind of person that persuaded you to drink copious amounts of alcohol and make bad choices. He was erratic and unpredictable. 

But when they were sat across from one and other, Eddie sipping on his coke as grease poured down Richie’s fingers, he’d had a good time. Richie was still erratic and unpredictable, but he wasn’t dangerous. Behind his eyes, there was a fond softness for his surroundings, an amused appreciation for the world and its various bumbling goings-on. Sure, he was definitely a Trashmouth with no sense of any social graces, but in the evening spent with him, Eddie had come to see that Richie cared for people in his own way. Eddie had been transfixed as Richie brought forth tales of his teams’ hockey escapades, stories of team nights out and winning goals, giving him a unique rundown of every single player- he spoke as though he were a storyteller with swooping arms and big facial expressions. Eddie couldn’t look away.

And surprisingly, when it was his turn to talk, Richie had listened- of course, every few minutes or so he would butt in with a witty comment or another anecdote- but he’d sat there with his chin on his palms and watched Eddie intently as he raved about Stan and Ben and Professor Thomas and the time that he cut his arm in the sandbox and his mother made the ER assistant cry. Richie’s knee had bounced incessantly under the table whenever Eddie opened his mouth and he was a real fidgeter but he had listened. Eddie had quickly realized as a child that people didn’t really care about what you had to say, they just stared at you with a vacant look and nodded along as their eyes glazed over. People didn’t want to hear about Eddie Kaspbrak and his insane mother. Richie, however, had ogled intently, his pupils flickering around as he followed Eddie’s hands, his fingers ricocheting against the table and pausing when he said something that Richie found particularly entertaining.

But he was still downright furious. 

He’d rang Stan on his way back home from the library after the missed occasion, mumbling sadly down the phone as he begged his friend to come and pick him up after he’d wandered around campus, blind with anger, until he didn’t know where he was. It was very unlike him. He’d taken refuge under a doorway as the rain poured down in buckets, torrential splatters smacking against the pavement. It had taken Stan (and Ben, the three of them shared an apartment) half an hour to find him, staying on the phone as Eddie gave the best description of where he was as he could muster with his vision obscured by droplets. 

Ben had charged into his questioning, obviously shaken by the whole ordeal, not used to seeing Eddie do something so reckless and uncalculated. Eddie knew that deep down it was just the guy trying to calm himself down, but it didn’t mean that his answers didn’t taste bitter and short in his mouth. Stan had been slightly colder, his fingers white against the steering wheel and his eyes drilling into the road ahead of them. It was only once Eddie checked the time on the dashboard that it dawned how long he had spent waiting in the library- he was instantly hit by a swirl of guilt in his stomach, knowing that he at least partially interrupted Stan’s nightly routine, all too aware of the discomfort that it caused his friend after living with him for 2 years. He was grateful too, sure he would come up with some way to repay both his roommates for going out of their way to help solve his fuck up.

He wasn’t offended when Stan hadn’t said a word to him, simply disappearing into his bathroom (Eddie made a mental note to check that he had gotten to sleep okay in an hour or so), or when he’d disappeared into the kitchen to get a coffee and he’d come back out to find Ben draped over the couch, soft snores leaving his mouth. As he went to pull a blanket over his friend, Eddie caught a small glimpse of where his t-shirt had ridden up and grinned- about a year and a half ago, Ben had sat down to have a serious discussion with the two of them, proudly proclaiming that they were his best friends and that he wanted their help to make some changes in his life- primarily his health. It had ended in tears for all three of them, hugging and sniveling over the Uris’s old dining room table. He was proud to say that, well, you could see the results. It wasn’t like Eddie was into guys or anything- but well, Ben was hot- _for a guy!_

* * *

In the week since Richie had abandoned their session, Eddie had found it difficult to draw his attention to anything else; any vacant time in his mind was filled with angry, upset thoughts about what had happened. 

“I just don’t see how somebody could think that that’s okay!” Eddie flung his hands up in the air, not caring as the librarian glared at his back when he slammed them on the wood in front of him.

“We know, Eddie, it’s the worst thing that any human being has ever done to another,” Stan may have been staring at the book in his hand, but it was impossible to miss the way that his eyes rolled around his head.

“Shut up, Stanley. It’s just been bothering me, I’m not an idiot.”

“Oh really? I didn’t get that from the 17 times you’ve brought it up over the last 7 days. I really thought you were _okay_ with it,” Stan remained in the same position, unfaltering with his book in his grasp.

“It's okay to be upset Eddie, it’s just…kind of weird that you’re THAT upset over it?” Ben chirped in from his corner of the table, twirling his pen between his fingers with the faintest curve of a smile in his dimples.

“No, it isn’t. It’s perfectly normal,” Eddie made sure to relish in the snap in his tone, making sure to lace it with as much venom as he could- turns out, it was a lot.

“Nobody has ever used the words perfect or normal to describe you.”

“Haha, somebody should give you an award for that sparkling humor, Stan. Would you like me to ask _Captain Denbrough?_ ” That got him moving. Stan choked on his tea, lurching forward and dropping his book as a crimson blush began to appear on his cheeks. It took him almost a minute to stop spluttering as his friends wheezed quietly in the background, biting their fists in futile attempts to hide their giggles. Ben eventually calmed with a sigh and placed his chin on his palm.

“A week ago, I was the only one with a crush on a member of the hockey team.”

“I’m sorry to take away from your only noteworthy feature, Ben,” Eddie quipped before the elated smile on his face dropped, “Wait- shut up. I’m straight. I don’t have a fucking crush on Richie fucking Tozier.”

“Never. Mentioned. Anything. About. Richie,” Stan tore out between coughs. 

“Shut the fuck up, both of you. Fuck you.”

“Do you mind? I’m trying to do some work here,” Ben snickered at his own innocent ‘hilarity’, prompting fond laughs from his friends. If there was one thing that Ben was incredible at, it was mediation; the guy could break the tension in any situation with a laugh and a silly joke. It was almost sickening how _nice_ he was sometimes.

“Ugh, I can’t focus,” Eddie whined, poking Stan’s arm aggressively as his friend tried to pick up his book and notes that had scattered over the floor.

“Are you going to fucking do something about this whole situation, then?” Stan bit, “Because I speak for myself and Ben when I say, I don’t know how much fucking longer I can put up with this shit.”

Eddie pondered for a few seconds, tapping his fingers on the table in a smooth motion (dare he say in the same way that Richie had during their dinner). Then it came to him.  
There was nothing like good old-fashioned revenge.

He was going to do what Kaspbrak’s did best.

Write a strongly worded email.

* * *

_‘To Professor Thomas and whomever it may concern,_

_This is an email that I really procrastinated writing as, I’m sure you know, it is never my wish to condemn any of my fellow pupils. However, I could not deal with the guilt if I did not express myself on this matter. It is merely out of concern for a fellow student that I am writing to you as I hold no animosity towards my peers._

_Around two weeks ago, you assigned me as a tutor to a Mr. Richard Tozier and I, unfortunately, have to share the news that he has acted undesirably towards the arrangement. Upon visiting him for the first time, he was decidedly negative towards the idea, going as far as to throw a litany of curses in my direction as a form of opposition. In fairness to Mr. Tozier, he did meet with me to arrange a time for us to begin our tutoring sessions together; I must inform you that that was the limit of his cooperation as he did not show up to that session and has not contacted me since to provide me with any reason as to why._

_Of course, this series of events has led me to question the educational and social intentions of Mr. Tozier and I am doing my best to remain judgment-free as the events digress from their intended purpose._

_I do hope that some form of action is taken to restore Mr. Tozier on the correct path and I’d be delighted to receive any notification of his progress._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Edward Kaspbrak.’_

* * *

Eddie heard the sound of a person approaching before he saw it, Stan and Ben both being drawn from their trances in a similarly dazed fashion, fingers pressed into the books strewn across their usual table. It wasn’t hard to hear the harsh mumbles in the quiet of the library, they reverberated around the entire upper floor, drawing looks from the students on surrounding tables.

He didn’t need to use his eyes to know what was on its way to him.

“What the actual fuck, Kaspbrak?” Richie slammed his fists onto the table, knocking Ben’s coffee onto his lap. His eyes seemed to flicker as they drilled into Eddie, simmering as if they had caught fire, 

“What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?”

“You didn’t show up to our session, Richie,” Eddie did his best to remain nonchalant, stare back into his opposers’ eyes without fear. Every inch of his body screamed for him to run, every lesson his mother ever taught him about confrontation playing as a backtrack to his thoughts.

“Eddie, what did you do?” Stan’s voice cut between them, harsh and cold. Eddie wasn’t the type to deny his friend an answer.

“I sent an email to Professor Thomas about Richie’s no-show.” 

“RICH!” A panting girl's voice stretched out from across the floor as she jogged up beside them, resting a hand on Richie’s shoulder. He flinched and pulled away. Eddie made an educated guess that this was Beverly Marsh: the only girl that had made the primary campus hockey team in the last 5 years, with a head full of vibrant orange curls and eyes that were kind and understanding. “I’m so sorry, you guys, I’ll get him-,”

“Fuck off, Bev. I want to know why Eddie here thinks that spreading lies about people is fucking okay!” Richie rocked forward towards him, now looming over him with his ridiculous height and casting a shadow over Eddie’s face.

“Spreading lies? What the fuck did I lie about, Tozier? Hm?” Eddie spat back, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I think it’s really adorable that you think you’re so smart, asshole,” Richie’s words were as sharp as cleavers, laced with a violence that Eddie had rarely experienced in his life- if ever, “But you have no idea how much you’ve just fucked up for me.”

“Rich, you need to calm down,” Bev’s voice was soothing amongst the raw shouts, “Just come with me and I’m sure we can arrange a time to talk to Eddie about this when you’re not about to bite the poor kids face off.”

“I don’t want to fucking calm down!” Richie threw his hands in the air, voice gradually getting louder and louder, “I want an explanation!”

“I was upset, Richie!” Eddie stood up, regretting it immediately as he realized that Richie still had a massive advantage over him, “I thought we got along well! Apparently not! I was warming up to you and then you blew me off- probably to go blow some jock in a bush somewhere!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Richie ran his palms over his face, pulling back and taking a deep breath with a renewed look of horror, “How entitled are you, Kaspbrak? I didn’t show up to your little study session after we had ONE CONVERSATION so you pull shit like this? Sorry, I didn’t realize I had to put my entire life on hold for you.”

“That’s not why I did it,” Eddie felt the sensation of regret beginning to pool in his stomach almost immediately, tingling at his fingers.

“Oh, did you do it because you care about my education? That’s really sweet of you but I don’t need a fucking pushover to look out for me.”

“I’ll show you a fucking pushover-,” Eddie bounded forward, arms grabbing out towards Richie with angry fists.

“EDDIE!” Stan’s voice was furious as he threw an arm across his friends’ chest, forcing him back down into his chair. “Sit the fuck down, he’s a hockey player, you idiot. _Nice to see you, Beverly._ Richie, I just watched the librarian ring Campus Police so unless you want to be in more trouble than you already are, I suggest you make yourself scarce. We can sort this out another time.”

Eddie watched as Richie’s ragged breaths began to even out and how, as Beverly slung an arm around his waist, he accepted it this time, leaning into her smaller frame as she drew circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. Bev herself gave Stan a nod of solidarity as she turned herself and Richie away from the scene, coaxing him towards the doorway as the man himself seemed to enter a kind of daze.

“Stan, I-,”

“For now, Eddie, just shut the fuck up.” Stan left.

He and Ben sat in a painful silence for a few minutes, both of them not quite ready to form words after the whole ordeal. Eventually, Ben’s voice echoed around his ears, hoarse but kind,

“He’s just thinking it over,” he planted a reassuring hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “You are too, I can tell. You both just need to think it over.” 

“You aren’t thinking about it?” He questioned softly,

“I don’t know enough to really think about it,” Ben joked, pulling his friend into a hug, “I know you, Eddie. You’re probably overthinking this already and you probably feel guilty. But give yourself some time to process what just happened before you plunge yourself into all that, okay?”

Eddie had nodded and they’d spent another hour or so studying whilst intermittently dealing with the huffs and glares of the librarian. Eventually, they’d packed up their shit and gone home to find Stan holed up in his room, furiously typing away on his laptop. There was a stubborn wash of tension over the apartment that refused to budge, even as he and Ben sat and watched some cringe-inducing rom-com into the meaningless hours of the morning.

It took Stan the night to finally come to terms with what had happened in the library, not sparing Eddie the slightest glance since he had packed up his things and left just minutes after Richie and Bev.  
Eddie had awoken on the sofa to the glaring eyes of the man in question on the armchair across from him, sipping his tea with his hands wrapped around the cup to keep them warm. Despite the light that was pouring through the windows and currently blinding him, the smell of coffee on the table just in front of him was impossible to miss, invading all of his senses. As he slowly came to, he reached forward to pluck the cup and cradle it,

“I’m sorry about-,” Eddie began, taking a deep breath through his nose before he was interrupted.

“You were in the wrong to do what you did. You should have talked to Richie,” Stan’s voice was detached and analytical as it always seemed to be when he was having serious conversations, however, Eddie was pleasantly surprised at the warmth that seemed to return as his friend continued, “But I can see why you did what you did. You got feelings and you got them hurt.”

“Feelings?” Any emotion that Eddie had felt was replaced with a creeping sense of uncertainty, the same kind of rush that urged your body to escape at the next given opportunity. 

“Don’t act dumb here, Eddie.”

“I’m not acting dumb. I don’t have any feelings for Richie. He said himself, we only ever met once…well, twice now…and I’m straight.” His words were fumbled and lacked any kind of logical pace or rhythm, falling out of his mouth as fast as he thought of them.

“Okay, so am I.”

“We both know that’s not fucking true.”

“Eddie, I think you should think about it-,” 

“Fuck that,” Eddie snapped, standing up from his place on the sofa and beginning his way towards the kitchen. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Stan.”

“Somebody’s defensive,” Stan’s easy tone made him want to throttle the guy; instead, Eddie settled for just storming out of the apartment angrily, still wearing his clothes from the day before. _This was so unlike him._

His entire world felt like it was being tipped on its head, constantly shifting and spinning until his brain felt like a kaleidoscope. He was acting out in ways that he hadn’t since he lived with his mother. He was being cruel. He was being impulsive. It all felt so wrong, but he couldn’t help the maelstrom of emotions that pushed him towards acting like an _idiot_. He felt awful for the way he had treated those around him, Stan included, but it was like being in a rut. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

Eddie didn’t want to give him the credit, but Richie Tozier had really turned everything upside down.

* * *

Stanley Uris was sick to death of Eddie’s pining, so naturally, he decided to take matters into his own hands. 

He could feel the chill creeping into his car from where the lining had pulled away, allowing the cold air to bite him to the bone. It was a familiar trek to the rink by now; he wouldn’t admit it to Eddie or Ben, but he had been seeing a lot more of Bill over the last two, now three, weeks. They had met up six times for coffee and twice for dinner, all of those times involving Stan making his way over to the rink post-practice and waiting patiently as Bill showered. 

He could hear the booming music from outside as he parked, well acquainted with the way that the team would blast music during the last half an hour of their practice- they would gleefully claim that it was to work on their non-verbal communication. Stan didn’t have to be intelligent to know who had plugged their phone into the speakers: Bill was unspectacular in his love for whatever cheesy pop song was playing on the radio, Bev and Richie adored 80’s rock (and 80’s music in general) and Mike had a taste for Indie and Folk music. 

It was a teen pop day today.

He bared a small wave to the receptionist as he made his way through to the rink, finding himself a seat near the bench to wait for Bill and the others. It didn’t take long for them to notice him despite his silence, Bev’s face lighting up from the goal as she screamed to the others. Within seconds, he was swaddled by hockey padding, and three smiling faces beaming down at him. _Three_ , he noted dutifully, _no Richie. Good._

“W-What brings you here? I didn’t think w-we had anything o-on?” Bill was positively beaming as he pressed a delicate kiss to Stan’s cheek. That was new. Fear seemed to dawn on his face, “W-We don’t, do w-we?”

“No, we don’t. I came to talk to you guys about Richie and Eddie. Where is Richie?”

“At a m-meeting.”

“Ugh, god. Is this the Eddie that I’ve heard about for two weeks straight?” Mike’s deep voice butted in, reverberating across the ice and bouncing around the now silent rink.

“Yep-p, that Eddie,” Bill rolled his eyes to prove the point, making the gaggle of players around him giggle quaintly. 

“We need to do _something_ about this. I don’t know how you guys feel about Richie at the moment, but I know I can’t put up with Eddie’s pathetic whining for much longer,” Stan folded his arms to punctuate his point, staring with a questioning look at those around him.

“Richie’s just as h-heartbroken. You’d think they’d have b-been married for y-years or something,” Bill jutted in with a yawn and a sly smile.

“I don’t know that we should be meddling, guys,” Bev took her turn, stepping in with an almost motherly chiding, “I feel like it’s something they should be allowed to deal with on their own- besides, we can’t call them _heartbroken_. It’s not fair to assume how they feel- especially after knowing each other for three weeks.” In that moment, Stan could see why Ben had been so smitten with the elusive  
Beverly Marsh; she was as kind-tempered and even as he was. They would be good together.

“I’m not suggesting that we set them up on a 5-star date or anything. Just get them back in tutoring like they were supposed to be. Just anything to let them come to some sort of stalemate,” Stan tapped his fingers against the seat beside him, beginning to wonder if perhaps he had been too hasty with his ideas regarding Eddie.

“Richie’s in a slump, Bev. He’s been heading down for a bit now and…we all know what that means. Somebody new, somebody outside hockey, somebody like Eddie- from what I’ve heard anyway- could be good for him,” Mike added thoughtfully, taking a sip from his water bottle.

“So, it’s sorted then?” Stan hoped that his nervousness didn’t creep into his voice too much; despite the fact that they had been at odds recently, he did just want the best for one of his best friends.  
“Sorted.”

“We need to think about this.”

“I-It’s time to make a p-plan.”

* * *

Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how he had been roped into this, again. Whether it was the pressure from Ben and Stan (and Bill, who he’d found at their apartment more and more often recently) or his own twisted guilt regarding what had happened with Richie, he found himself wrapping his coat around his body tighter as he made his way around the campus streets to the hockey dorms. Bill had graciously given Eddie Richie’s phone number and the two had shared a rather terse conversation.

_Hey Richie, it’s Eddie. I’m sorry for my actions, I didn’t mean to cause you any real harm._

**sup eds its okay im fine with what happened and i feel like i acted out too so im sorry :)**

Eddie had been far too preoccupied by the horrendous lack of grammar in Richie’s text to fully notice the next one that had come through.

**if you wouldnt mind i have changd my mind about the tutoring and want help**

**please**

**thank u**

_I’ll have to see what I can sort out but if you’re willing to try I’m sure we can._

_It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t been shocked at Richie’s newfound willingness to take part in the scheme that they’d been forced into; Eddie quickly concluded that he was probably lying next to Beverly or someone as he wrote it. They didn’t really talk much after that, merely exchanging their schedules to see what day Richie was actually free- as it turns out, Richie couldn’t actually do Thursdays, he had just told Eddie that to get him off of his back. They found a window between 4:30 and 6 on a Monday night after Eddie’s classes finished and before Richie had training and decided to set the date,_

_Richie even sending a voice message to commemorate the occasion._

_‘Thank you, sexy Eddie, for finally agreeing to go on a date with me, I worked so hard for so long to win thine affections and alas, it has proved fruitful.’_

__Asshole._ _

He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d lost his way more times than he could count in his attempt to try and locate the hockey dorms. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t a place that he had ever thought to seek out before, other than hearing of the odd party or get together than the team would hold intermittently. Eddie never went, of course. Partying didn’t agree with him all too well. He and Ben had ventured out into a club one night and found themselves painfully out of their depth- he tried constantly to forget the way he had _accidentally shoved that girl onto the floor_ when she got just a little too close for comfort. That had been the only motivation they had needed to retreat back to their apartment, faces burning red as Stan had welcomed them back expectantly only an hour after they had left. 

Eventually, he found the building and the looming shadow that it cast over the rest of the street. The campus was very much split into halves: old and new. Eddie had never had a reason to warrant going anywhere but the new side, that was where the Medical School was after all. The hockey dorms were in the old sector, made up of crumbling brick buildings with arching windows and their borderline gothic aesthetics. Eddie wasn’t _that_ short but the huge wooden door loomed over his entire frame, the huge knocker just barely in reach of his fingertips. Blissfully, he noticed the haphazardly placed doorbell just to the left of the frame and pressed his finger onto it, cringing at the thought of the teams’ blatant disregard for cleanliness that would surely apply to their appliances as well as their- 

His spiralling thoughts were cut off as Bev answer the door, decked out in lavender sweats. On anyone else, they would have come across distasteful and maybe even a little tacky, but they brought out the smooth blush of her cheeks and seemed to hang off of her body in a way that made her look- well, beautiful. She wasn’t Eddie’s type though. Besides, she was _definitely_ more Ben’s forte. 

“Smart move, coming to Richie instead of letting him come to you. There’s no escape,” She snorted, “Saying that, his room may be on the third floor but I wouldn’t put it past him to jump out.” 

“I don’t think I could deal with being stood up a second time,” Eddie pretended to swoon; he did really like Beverly Marsh, she made him feel safe. 

“Aw, that’s cute, Eds,” She pushed a finger into his shoulder, knocking him off-kilter slightly with the added force of his grimace. 

“Uh, please don’t call me that.” 

“Oh, sorry, it’s just that’s what Rich calls you when he’s talking-“ She seemed the jolt into silence as she realized, quickly glancing downwards to the key that she was fiddling with between her fingers, 

“Sorry, that got…awkward.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” He forced out a laugh, “I can’t remember a time where I haven’t been awkward.” 

“The old ladies must love you, you’re such a nerdy sweetheart,” Bev bounded back to life again, “I meant to ask you: you know you don’t have to do this, right? If you feel uncomfortable around Richie after what happened-“ 

“Oh no, no, no. Don’t worry, we sorted it out,” _I hope_ , “We’re all good.” 

“Well, if you’re sure,” She huffed, a smile on her face, “Third floor, second door on the right.” 

Eddie made sure to thank her as he began his journey up the stairs, taking in the sheer size of the place- no wonder they were the go-to party hosters, they could probably fit as many people in their house as they could at the rink. Every so often he would hear a scuffle come from one of the rooms, or the sound of music- specifically indie, seemed to be being blasted particularly loudly. He counted the doors under his breath until he finally got to Richie’s. 

Oh yes, it was definitely Richie’s. 

There was police tape wrapped around the door frame carelessly and- _oh my god, is that real blood?_ \- T.R.A.S.H.M.O.U.T.H was spray-painted in huge green letters. It was clear that the word had been painted over many times in various different colors, it would have been almost impossible to tell what color the door had started as if not for the others in the house to compare with. Taking in a gulping breath, he brought his fist up to the door and knocked loudly, enough so that he was sure the whole house could hear him if he tried. Fuck. _Why was this so nerve-wracking?_

“EDS! Sexy Eddie! Eddie Spaghetti! Welcome to my humble abode!” Richie swung the door open, glasses askew on his face. It was clear that he hadn’t long woken up, sleep still sitting in the corners of his eyes. Not that Eddie was looking at his eyes. “Come on in, mi amigo.” Richie’s room was a mess. That was the only word that Eddie could use to describe it as his brain began to short circuit at the piles of dirty clothes and unmade bed that was currently haunting Eddie’s eyes. 

“Trash-heap fit for a trashmouth,” Richie summed up, seemingly happy with that conclusion. Eddie took a deep breath as he began to excavate his way over to the desk, which unsurprisingly was covered with old, incomplete assignments and random textbooks. 

“So, is there anything you would like to go into in particular?” Eddie sighed, pulling his own corresponding textbooks out of the bag that he had brought with him, laying them out cleanly on the table. 

“Damn, Spaghetts, you like to get straight down to the dirty, don’t you?” Richie teased, kicking a few stray pieces of laundry under his bed with socked toes, “Impatient bastard.” In spite of his comments, Eddie’s counterpart quickly settled down- well, settled was relative. He had been expecting Richie to sit down at the desk with him, but he soon realized that the other boy seemed to just wander around the room as they conversed, unable to remain still for any longer than a few given seconds. 

The thing that shocked Eddie the most was how _intelligent_ Richie was; how he had flunked class so badly that his professor thought he was in need of a tutor baffled him, Richie was a whiz when it came to all of the practical knowledge. Things quickly became apparent as soon as he set a writing task, however, as when Richie took his place at the desk Eddie watched the way that he squirmed uncomfortably, keeping different parts of his body in constant motion. If he looked close enough (not that he was staring) he could almost see the way that Richie would constantly draw in and out of focus- it took him a few minutes to even get a few words on the page. 

“You know,” Richie nibbled on the end of his pen, raising his eyebrows in a frustrated manner, “I feel awful. It’s a foreign feeling; I’ve been told I have the emotional empathy of a cabbage yet I can’t stop feeling bad about what happened.” 

“In all honesty, I deserved it, Richie. Don’t worry about it,” Eddie let a small smile pass over his lips, feeling a slight bubbling feeling of warmth in his stomach. 

“You did a shitty thing, don’t get me wrong,” He chuckled, tossing his curls around, “But you didn’t deserve to get publicly humiliated- that’s either kinky or medieval and I wasn’t going for either.” 

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Eddie whispered, sly and amused, “Medieval Kinky is all the rage.” 

“Really? I thought it was Doctor-Patient Roleplay,” Richie quipped, crossing his arms over his chest with a victorious smirk. That definitely got his cheeks blushing. 

“Can it, Tozier,” He snapped, brushing off the comment with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Ouch, back to Tozier. It’s almost reminiscent of when Professor Thomas read out your email to me.” 

“He did _what!?_ ” Eddie shrieked, burying his face in his arms. 

“Oh yep, read the whole thing. Honestly, a part of me was impressed. You’re far more charming via electronic communication,” Richie was full-blown belly-laughing, rocking back and forth on his chair. 

“In real life I’m prone to bouts of uncontrollable rage,” He mumbled into his forearm, too ashamed to look up. 

“Oh, don’t I know it.”

Within seconds, any comfort that had risen between them dissipated with the crash of Richie’s door opening and the invasion of a huge, looming figure. He was obviously older than both Richie and himself, his chin disappearing into a gross line of stubble. His smile was a sick one, deranged all the way to his beady pupils that dragged across the pair of them, he was stocky and bruised with a hunkering stance that screamed trouble. 

“Fuck off, Bowers. I’m busy,” Richie’s voice was short but surprisingly polite, his eyes not daring to cast a glance at the imposing figure. 

“Feeling brave today, Tozier? What have I told you about painting over the art I put on your door? Hm? How are they supposed to know you’re a _faggot_ if you keep painting over it?” Bowers, Eddie assumed,  
teased, ripping Richie’s textbook from his hands and slamming his hands down in front of the boy. 

“I’m not a…” Richie’s voice was barely there, a hoarse whisper, “I don’t…” 

“I’m sorry, we’re you saying something, pussy? Who’s this, one of your little fag friends?” 

“Leave him the fuck alone, Bowers. He hasn’t done shit,” Richie seemed stronger then, even daring to look into Bowers' eyes. 

“Hey! You don’t speak for me, Richie. What if am gay, hm?” Eddie squared his shoulders in the way that he used to do as a child when his mother upset him, “What are you going to do about it, asshole?” 

“Eddie, please-“ 

“Oh, normally I only get Tozier to pummel but I’m not going to argue- two twinks for the price of one!” Bowers had a sick wheeze to his voice as he started forward. 

“Bring it on, you piece of shit,” Eddie quickly rose to his feet in anticipation of the blows that were sure to hit heavy and leave him breathless. 

“EDDIE!” Richie seemed furious and he shoved Bowers backward with one hand, leaving the man stumbling into the dresser. He seemed to quiet down then, casting a soft glance in his direction, “Eddie, leave. Please.” 

“Richie? What?” Eddie was gobsmacked. _What? Richie was just going to let this guy beat him up?_ “You can’t just let him-,” 

“Eddie, please.” 

He hated the way that he turned on his heel. He hated the way that he closed the door behind him. He hated the way that Beverly asked him why he was crying when he made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than expected- there's a lot going on at the moment but I really did want to get this up within a week.
> 
> I hope everyone is getting at least some kind of mild amusement out of this- _if not, uh, why read it?_
> 
> idk each to their own
> 
> If you wanna send me an ask about this- or anything else- or just hang out, check me out on Tumblr @literary-shitstorm
> 
> Thank ye


	3. Playing the Part

**hey eds**

**im sorry about what happened today**

_It’s okay, Richie, it wasn’t your fault._

**i saw you crying eds**

_No_

_Well, yes. But that wasn’t you, Richie. Honest._

**can i take you out to dinner some time?**

**i promise ill explain**

_Is Saturday okay?_

* * *

They ended up at the same diner they had the first night that they met. They’d bickered for a bit as they’d driven around the campus streets in Richie’s old rusted pickup. Turns out, they had completely different tastes in restaurants, _who’d have guessed?_ Eddie had felt the acidic burn of vomit wallowing in the back of his throat when Richie had suggested they search out some kind of seedy bar, claiming that there was nothing shameful about day-drinking if you were either underage or above the age of 63. Eddie, instead, had suggested that they drive into the city to find somewhere a little more proper to go, to which Richie complained about his pineapple shirt and ‘obvious’ lack of funds. _‘Who do you think I am, Spaghetti?’_

It had been a spur of the moment thing as they were on their way to someplace that had vaguely good reviews online; Eddie had quickly burst out in a fit of screeches, jabbing into Richie’s arm as he demanded that the other man turn into the parking lot. Richie, who was obviously shaken by the sudden fit of movement, shrieked and yanked the steering wheel. He overshot it a little bit, but he didn’t seem to care when his car _thunked_ into the road sign, Eddie, on the other hand, let out a trail of curses. 

“God, you know how to get a man going with that mouth of yours, Eds.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie.”

They’d settled on a table outside with an almost comically large umbrella, their waitress from a few weeks prior greeting them with a surprised smile and offering them the same menus they’d had that night. They knew it was the same because, of course, Richie had doodled a dick onto one of the pictures of hotdogs whilst he was listening to Eddie rattle off a story, no doubt about his overbearing mother.

Eddie had been in for a shock when he’d looked up from his reading- this time he’d wanted to see everything the menu had on offer- to see Richie pull out a zippo and a well-worn pack of Winstons. He wasn’t even sure he could have closed his jaw if he tried as Richie brought a cigarette to his lips, flicking the lighter to life. It felt wrong, Eddie felt as though he was seeing something he shouldn’t be as smoke curled out of the other man’s mouth. For the first time, Eddie felt like he was really seeing Richie Tozier, the infamous troublemaker of campus. Sure, there was the grossly colored pineapple shirt, but that was topped by a slick leather jacket that somehow managed to be both fitted and loose, hanging off of his body in just the right way. His jeans had rips at the knee, for god’s sake. Richie had looked like trouble when Eddie had first seen him, the kind of playful trouble that got you a detention after class, but now he looked like _real_ trouble, the type that made mothers scared and boys jealous.

“Shit, sorry, I forgot to ask-,” Richie’s eyes went comically wide, “You’re not-?”

“Asthmatic?” Eddie cringed at the word, dragging his eyes back down to the menu, “No.” _Not anymore._

“Thank fuck,” Richie swung his legs up to rest on the table, cracking into a smile as Eddie squirmed at the dirt that was caked onto his boots, “Couldn’t do anything to harm my precious noodle.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Eddie recoiled, “Ever heard of second-hand smoke, asshole? Do you even know how bad those things are for you?”

“Wouldn’t smoke them otherwise, Eddie dearest,” Richie remarked before squeezing his eyes shut and jabbing his finger randomly into the menu, buzzing with excitement. “I’m getting the sour milkshake!”

“Gross,” Eddie worried his lip between his teeth, “Do the team know about your…habit?”

“They know that I _used_ to smoke,” Richie raised a challenging brow, “Me and Bev quit together, you know, for the goodness of the team and all.”

“Is that your way of asking me not to tell them?”

“It’s my way of telling you that you’re not going to,” Richie’s voice had a hint of ice in it, the slightest undertone of some kind of threat that left almost inappropriate electrics sparking in Eddie’s spine.  
Not long after that their waitress, who they learned was called Emily, reappeared and asked them what they wanted. Thankfully, all of the tension seemed to dissipate as Richie wiggled like an overexcited golden retriever and proudly took claim over the sour milkshake. Eddie on the other hand, favored on the side of simplicity, going for a classic vanilla. 

Things seemed to calm down after that, Eddie managing to tune out the smoke that would unfurl from Richie’s lips and the sound of his mother’s chants that would accompany it: _Smoking kills, Eddie-Bear. Never touch those god-awful cancer sticks, Eddie-Bear, or anyone attached to one._

It had been easy to tune her out until his phone rang, of course.

Richie was drawn from his sour milkshake (which he proclaimed was the best thing he had ever tasted after retching into the grass for about thirty seconds) by Eddie’s audible grimace and, no doubt, the sound of him whacking his head onto the table beneath them, splashing speckles of vanilla over the metal.

“Who is it?” Richie had questioned as he leered over from his seat, squinting to see the caller ID. Eddie was proud to say that it read _DO NOT ANSWER_ in bold letters.

“My mother,” Eddie sighed, resurfacing with a groan.

“That’s funny? She normally rings me at this time,” Richie gave it his signature shark-tooth smile, “Granted, that’s normally in response to the daily picture I send her of my huge co-“

“Shut up,” Eddie didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that his cheeks were burning red, “I can’t put her off any longer, I’ve ignored her past 5 calls.”

“Go ahead,” Richie reclined, his leg twitching, “I don’t mind.”

Eddie sucked in air through his nose, closing his eyes and counting to three a few times in a desperate attempt to calm the nerves that always seemed to resurface during any interaction with his mother. As he peeled one eye open, he was met with what seemed to be actual _concern_ on Richie’s face, his brows knotted together. By the time the world had fully refocused, his counterpart had returned to his previous lax stance and lazy smile, a second cigarette clutched between his teeth.

Eddie pressed the button.

“Eddie-Bear! Oh my sweet Eddie-Bear! If you ignored one more of my calls I was going to ring the authorities! Who knows what could be going on in that dreadful place- all sorts of despicable people!” Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see Richie’s stifled giggles, no doubt able to hear his mothers’ shrieks from across the table.

“I’m fine,” He paused, biting on his lip in embarrassment, _“Mommy.”_ Richie burst into a fit of laughter, the hand he had clamped over his mouth no longer able to stop the floods of hoots pouring out.

“Are you with somebody, Eddie-Bear?”

“No, no, no, mommy. It’s just some people on the tv,” Eddie winced, aggressively motioning for Richie to _shut his fucking mouth._ The only thing the other boy did in return was reach across the table and steal the cherry from Eddie’s milkshake with a wink- great, now he was embarrassed and hot under the collar. _No, no, he wasn’t._

“Have you been taking your medications, Eddie-Bear? You must keep up with your appointments, sweetie. There are thousands of new diseases breaking out every day!”

“Hey Eds!” Richie hollered, his smile wide, “Did you see where my underwear went? I mean, you must’ve flung it somewhere when you took it off!” Eddie somehow flushed darker, coughing and spluttering down the phone as his mother reeled in shock.

“Eddie-Bear? What was that? Is this a joke? Are you playing a joke on your mommy, Eddie-Bear? This is not funny. Is that a _man’s_ voice?” His mother’s voice echoed with disgust; he could practically picture the look on her face.

“I’m sorry, I was alone but a friend of mine who slept over just woke up,” All of a sudden, Richie seemed to halt when he noticed the fear in Eddie’s voice, his lips clamping shut.

“You didn’t…. _engage_ with each other, did you?” Her voice was almost shy as she said it, it was almost as though she too was reminiscing about the conversations they had when he was younger.

“No. I would never do that, mommy,” Eddie threw an apologetic look in Richie’s direction, his lips quivering as the statement left his mouth, “Relationships with other men…it…is…t-they’re disgusting. That’s what you taught me, right?”

“That’s right. And that’s why you stopped rooming with that god-awful Uris child,” She tutted, “I don’t like the sound of this new friend of yours, Eddie-Bear.”

“Sorry, mom, the connections going again.”

“You know, you really ought to get that fixed-“ He smashed the end call button with all of the strength he could muster.

The pair of them sat in silence for a few minutes, both digesting what had just taken place before them. To give Richie his credit, his face was stone cold, giving absolutely nothing away about his thoughts regarding their conversation- although Eddie was sure he had them. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think that,” Eddie cringed, “You know I don’t.”

“I know you don’t,” Richie’s voice was soft in a way that Eddie had never encountered before; he cracked a quaint smile, “You’re far too sexy to be something as dumb as a homophobe.”

“Don’t you know it,” Eddie took a long sip from his drink, enjoying the way that in spite of his mother’s usual wrath, Richie hadn’t even faltered. He’d simply taken it in his stride and moved along.

They chit-chatted back and forth about classes and Richie’s training for a while, both of them sent chuckling as Eddie revealed to Richie what had been going on between Stan and Bill for almost a month and a half now. Richie, unsurprisingly, had been utterly oblivious to the fact, almost choking on his straw. It took a while until Eddie finally saw fit to breach the topic that they had come to talk about.

“So, what happened with Bowers the other day?”

“ _That_ fucker?” Richie scoffed, “Don’t worry about him, he’s just mortified because he’s the type of bad boy that picks on others just because he felt disgusting when he liked how he looked in the mirror with his mothers’ panties on.” Eddie winced at the mental image.

“He said he beats you up, Richie!” Eddie burst out, gripping the side of the table, “And he made it sound like it was a pretty regular occurrence.”

“So? We’re the hockey lot. We all roughhouse a bit.”

“Richie that was straight-up bullying!” Eddie started to dig his nails so hard into his palms that they burned.

“There’s nothing I can do about it, Eddie!” Richie’s face was aflame with an emotion that mirrored that of the one he fronted at the library. Anger. “It’s just something that I have to put up with!”

“You shouldn’t have to!”

“Bowers’ dad coaches the team,” Richie’s outburst had quickly diminished, returning to his favored emotion of discomfort, _ice cold_ , “I can’t lose the team, Eds. I can lose everything but the team.  
I don’t expect you to understand but I just can’t.”

* * *

Before meeting the hockey team, Eddie really hadn’t been expecting his life to change that drastically any time in the near future. He figured he’d just carry on bumbling through his day to day life, going to all of his classes and hibernating in the evenings with Stan and Ben for company. He certainly hadn’t expected his life to be swarmed by the arrival of 4 new friend candidates, all quickly bustling their way into his heart and planting themselves with no room for any kind of movement. 

It didn’t take long for him to begin to wonder how he’d made it without the hockey _dorks_ filling up all of his free time. 

They instantly became a staple in his life, constantly milling around their apartment: whether it was Bev, who often came to see Ben under the guise of just passing by; Bill, who had officially become Stan’s boyfriend a week or so after Eddie and Richie’s diner shenanigans; or Richie himself, who’d started taking his study sessions at Eddie’s rather than at home in the hockey dorms. Of course, Mike and Stan found that they got on like two peas in a pod, constantly chuckling to each other about their own witty comments.

Over the four months since Eddie had first gone to meet Richie at the rink, they had quickly adopted many group habits that were stuck to as though they were law. Every Tuesday Ben, Stan and himself would drive over to the rink post-practice and they’d pile into their respective cars before ordering their own body weight in takeaway and taking it to some field in the middle of nowhere to sit and eat on the grass (Eddie always made sure to bring a blanket and take an antihistamine). On Saturdays, they would squeeze into the apartment to watch a collection of, normally, shitty movies whilst they ribbed each other with no remorse, more often than not ending in a vicious popcorn fight.

Eddie had come to love each member of their posse in their own way. Obviously, Stan and Ben remained a constant in his life, their chatter serving as a backdrop to his life wherever they were, but he was excited to mix with his new friends too. He loved Mike’s clear head and rationality, the way that the man would always throw an interesting theory into their debates, blowing their minds, and then back out of the conversation as if he hadn’t just fucked up their entire argument with just a few words. He adored Beverly, she was just so kind and patient and everything that Eddie craved to be towards others- yet still, she had a wild air to her, an untameable aura that was no doubt the thing that drew her and Richie so close together (and what fuelled Ben’s crush). Eddie liked having Bill around purely for the way he left Stan so adorably disgruntled when he found his boyfriend sat in his armchair or making his tea wrong, the domestic hilarity as Stan would smack him with a dishtowel and mutter under his breath, making a huge toothy grin rise to Bill’s cheeks.

Eddie loved each and every member of their group- but he would be a liar to say he hadn’t been indisputably drawn to Richie. Despite the pair of them having a rocky start, they somehow managed to turn it into something that left them almost attached at the hip. Their relationship may have lacked the smooth, care-free nature some of the others possessed (Eddie still had his moments where he found himself unable to cope with Richie’s erratic nature and Richie himself was prone to recurring moments of aggression and icy dismissal) but they were suited to one and other in a way that Eddie had never experienced with anyone prior. He had known from the moment that he’d laid eyes on the man in his psychedelic clothes in the rink’s reception that evening that he was dealing with someone that dragged him miles out of his comfort zone- he _loved_ it. His entire life, Eddie’s world felt like it had been encased in bubble wrap, his mother protecting him from the harsh words of strangers and the dangers that the Earth was bound the force upon his _frail, weak_ body. All it took to flip that on its head was Richie Tozier with his sharky smile and a needle at his fingertips, ready to pop the lies that had dictated Eddie’s life one by one.

He’d thought that it would be harder to recover from the incident at the diner than it, in truth, was. Their meal hadn’t lasted long after that, Richie quickly packing up and offering to drive Eddie back to his apartment- he was almost sure that if the man hadn’t been his only option of getting home, Richie would have left Eddie on the side of the road to make his own way back. Richie’s truck had been freezing as the gears clicked between them, Eddie feeling as though they were sat on opposite sides of a stadium despite them being less than a meter apart. He had politely thanked Richie, who had walked him to his door regardless of how much he’d protested and reminded him that he wouldn’t tell the team about his habit. That had brought some semblance of warmth to his opposers' murky eyes, Richie offering a lax smile as Eddie closed the door behind him.

He’d been expecting their next meeting, another study session, to be filled with awkward tension and crippled conversation yet he’d come to be pleasantly surprised. Richie was just as buoyant and rambunctious as he always was, never failing to fill the air with some kind of scaldingly hilarious comeback or witty anecdote. Eddie didn’t know whether it was genuine, or the other man was simply trying to repent for his aloof actions during their last excursion, either way, he didn’t particularly care to find out. Banter with Richie had become the highlight of his days, the two of them communicating more and more over regular texts.

Professor Thomas had looked horrified the first time he saw Eddie on his phone in class, smiling down at a video Richie had sent him of him kicking a hockey puck off of Bill’s head. 

Today was one of those Saturdays that Eddie had found himself constantly looking forward towards; it seemed as though they had become the epicenter of his week, every moment spent itching to curl up with a movie and some good food. He’d gone to the library to get some extra work done ahead of the upcoming week, even planning out the content of some future sessions with Richie, figuring that if he was unable to take his mind off his friends any way he may as well do something useful with it. 

As much as he hated to give his professor credit, teaching Richie _had_ been good for him and his education; Richie tested limits and forced him to think of different ways to teach and help his friend focus- especially considering he massively struggled with the conventional classroom style of learning. Eddie dreaded to think what he must’ve been like in high school. Having said that, Richie never ceased to surprise him with his intelligence in spite of his unorthodox ways (Eddie would begrudgingly admit that maybe he was even _smarter_ in some areas). Eddie had been positively mesmerized the first time he’d heard Richie ramble off about his American Lit essay.

Time seemed to drag on. Even as he took the bus back to his apartment, seconds seemed to stretch into hours, the music he made sure was flooding into his ears doing nothing to help distract him from his journey. Stan and Ben had been shocked around two weeks ago when Eddie had first told them that he was going to start taking public transport to get to and from places, both of their jaws almost touching the floor with their pupils blown out in shock. When they desperately asked why Eddie hadn’t had the heart to tell them the real reason out of fear of teasing, instead blushing and telling them that he’d wanted to push out of his comfort zone. That wasn’t _totally_ a lie, he just skipped the part where he told them that it was Richie who’d inspired him to start taking more risks with his life.

Eddie was practically buzzing by the time he heard the knocks on the door later that evening, having just come off the phone to the pizza place, knowing their order off by heart. Ben had beat him to the door, flinging it open to reveal the flushed faces of the four hockey players who quickly dove inside, pulling off their gloves with their teeth and pushing each other as they pulled off their coats. Stan had been practically tackled off his armchair by Bill, the rest of them throwing their heads back in delighted laughter as they watched the pair squirm around play fighting on the floor (well, Bill was play fighting, Stan looked like he was out for blood).

The amount of food they ordered never ceased to amaze Eddie, the stacks of boxes and sides taking two people to carry to the coffee table. However, it all seemed like nothing the moment that Richie, Bev, Mike and Bill got their hands on it, the four of them devouring slice after slice with seemingly no perception of rationality.

“You know, Spaghetts, the only thing more filling than this pizza is your mom,” Richie smirked, sauced smeared over his cheeks and _glasses?_

“Ugh, gross, Rich,” Bev had shoved his shoulder, the smile on her face conflicting with her bitter words.

“I would definitely eat my mom in a zombie apocalypse,” Eddie hummed around a chicken wing, “She could feed a small village. Fuck that, she could feed a large one.” The whole group burst into laughter, Stan nodding viciously, unable to talk but agreeing wholeheartedly. Richie seemed to be choking on a string of cheese, Bill trying to smack between his friend’s shoulder blades amidst his throaty chuckles.

“You’ve had a bad influence on poor little Eddie, Rich,” Mike sounded positively forlorn, “He was supposed to be the best of us.”

“That’s a lie. We all know who’s the best of us,” Eddie looked towards Stan, watching a smile rise on his friend's face, “Tell them Stan, isn’t Ben the best of us?”

“Asshole!” Stan threw a fry in his direction, eliciting even more giggles from those around them, “I do agree though. Ben could give Jesus a run for his money.” That made the boy blush, nobody missing the faint smile that Bev gave him. 

“Aren’t you Jewish?” Richie’s brows raised in questioning, “Do Jewish people believe in the ol’ J-Dog?”

“First of all, never call Jesus J-Dog under this roof ever again, you uneducated swine,” Stan snorted, “Secondly, that is far too much of a debate for me to get into right now.”

“You should get a podcast, Staniel,” Richie teased, “I’m sure people would love to hear your philosophical ideas. And also, I’d love to see you get canceled when you and Billy-Boy get caught having sex on air.”

“S-Shut up, Richie,” Bill whined, “Everyone on this t-table has been getting more than you r-recently. You’re just j-jealous.”

“Are you invalidating both my hands?” Richie drew back in mock horror, “They have feelings, you know?”

_“B-Both?”_

“I’ll have you know I’m very ambidextrous,” Richie threw a wink in Eddie’s direction before completely ruining any atmosphere he had built up by shoveling a slice into his mouth.

“You lot,” Ben took a deep breath, a smile on his lips, “Are the grossest people I’ve ever met.”

“I can toast to that!” Richie stood up, his gangly limbs causing a ruckus around him, “To the grossest people Ben Hanscom has ever met!” With that, all seven of them stood in place, knocking aside all sorts of boxes and bags, enveloping each other in hugs and cheers.

Not long after that, they settled into their places to watch the movies that, this week, Mike had chosen for them. Richie had whined the whole time that they had spent setting them up, pouting as they repeatedly told him that those were the rules and that it would be his turn to choose in two weeks’ time. As per usual, Eddie had ended up settled next to the person in question, their thighs squished together as they piled in front of the tv. Stan and Bill always managed to squeeze onto the armchair together, Ben and Bev taking refuge on the floor as Richie, Eddie and Mike squashed themselves onto the couch. Eddie secretly adored the way that Richie would pinch his cheeks and squeal ‘ _CUTE’_ as he slipped his own socked feet under his friend’s thighs, relishing in the way that Richie seemed to serve as a constant space heater.

It wasn’t unusual for them to end up cuddled- _huddled-_ together, the heating in the apartment was weak at the best of times and buzzed on and off at intermittent intervals. Eddie didn’t question it when Richie would slip an arm around his waist dramatically and would tug him into his side, ignoring the pointed looks that Stan would throw in his direction. He would find himself trying not to blush as he could feel the tones and curves of Richie’s body under the thin hoodie that he had obviously slipped on quickly post-shower. He tried to pretend he didn’t feel the way that Richie tensed, forcibly stopping his seemingly constant twitching when Eddie rested his head on the other man’s shoulder, or the way that he seemed to melt into the couch afterward, the two of them stuck together in some kind of gooey, relaxed heap.

He hadn’t exactly planned on falling asleep, it wasn’t unheard of for any of them to doze off during their movie nights, or for the four players to sleep over in a heap on the floor. Eddie definitely hadn’t planned on falling asleep _on_ Richie however, waking up to his face pressed into the other man’s chest, their legs entwined together underneath a blanket that had been haphazardly placed over them. If it weren’t for the mortifying situation, Eddie would have giggled at the way that Richie’s glasses sat crooked on his face or how his feet fell well over the edge of the couch. 

Instead, he desperately tried to crawl away. _Yeah, that didn’t work._ As he moved upwards, he smashed his head into Richie’s jaw, eliciting a sharp yelp from the man beneath him as his eyes sprung open.

“Eddie,” Richie groaned and Eddie could see the blood beginning to dribble at the corner of his mouth where he had obviously bit his tongue, “Whath the futh, duthe?”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Richie,” Eddie squealed, finally managing to gather his balance and lean back on his heels as Richie coughed and spluttered, “Jesus, fuck, sit up!”

“Uff, Eths, Im reathly hurthing,” Richie groaned, dragging a hang through his messy curls. He immediately stopped as Eddie pulled a first aid kid out from under the couch, eyes wide in genuine surprise,  
“Whath the fuuuuuth.”

“As you are currently demonstrating, it is always important to be prepared,” Eddie huffed, scooting forwards as Richie swung one of his legs over the top of the couch for him to get closer. If not for the pressing medical situation, Eddie’s mind would’ve been running rabid with just how, well, _raunchy_ their position was.

“Damn, thath was supposthed to be my line,” Richie waggled his eyebrows, cringing as he tried to smile.

“Hardy-ha. Now, stop talking so I can try and sort this out,” Eddie began to pull out various different pieces of gauze, rolling them and shoving them around Richie’s tongue. It wasn’t particularly well done, but it was better than Richie choking on his own blood. At one point, he sped off to retrieve one of the various ice packs that they kept in the freezer, pressing it towards his friend and demanding that he hold it on his face for at least 15 minutes.

“Damn Eths, lovth it when you tell me whath to do,” Richie snickered, “Donth worry, I play icth hothey, I’ve had worsth.”

“Just because you’ve had worse doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do anything about it,” Eddie scolded playfully, relaxing now that the disaster had been averted.

“Speathing of hothey,” Richie puffed his chest up dramatically, “I planned to be able to speath wthen I asked thith, alasth, Ethward Kasthbrak, would you like to come to our hothey game on the lasth day before winther break.” Eddie felt his heart begin to speed up at the warm smile on Richie’s face, the kindness that didn’t stop at his toothy grin but instead stretched all the way to his eyes.

“I’d love to, Richie,” His voice was much quieter than he’d imagined in his head, but he wasn’t sure he could have spoken any louder if he tried.  
He’d definitely spoken louder minutes later, however, as Richie tackled him close to press a bloody kiss to his cheek, demanding that Eddie take him out for ice cream to repent for the damage that he’d done.

* * *

Going to a sports game was something that Eddie had never had the freedom to do before going to college and even then, it was just something that he’d never thought to do. It wasn’t like he’d had a bubbly, loving father who he could watch the football with on a Sunday or who would surprise him at Christmas with season tickets that they could share. His mother had despised the entire concept of sport, going as far as to pull him out of gym at school. She would fawn over him, telling him that it was for the greater good and that it was the other children who were the dangerous ones. 

The atmosphere at the rink was _incredible_. Bill, as the Captain, had pulled some strings to get him, Stan and Ben front row seats. Not to mention they were right next to the bench, watching the players stream on and off for warmups. It all seemed to become real as Eddie focussed on the floods of people pouring into their seats from all angles, watching as Richie helped Bev practice in goal, taking slap shots into the net behind her as she pouted mischievously. He’d watched the team practice for months now, but to see them preparing for a real game made the blood pump through his veins.

Time flew and before he knew it, there was a voice blaring through the speakers, calling all of the players to the ice. Eddie had never screamed that hard before in his life, his lungs feeling like they could burst at any moment as he forced chants out of his small frame. Eddie’s heart almost stopped when Richie skidded out having swapped his mock TRASHMOUTH, 69 practice jersey for his more serious TOZIER, 04. The smile on his face was positively animalistic, the smile of somebody radical with adrenaline. The cheers only increased when he took a mock bow, Bev chuckling next to him in her 03.  
Eddie cussed when Bowers came out but he didn’t plan on letting that idiot ruin his night. 

Then the game started.

Eddie felt like he had been consumed by a whirlwind, his eyes constantly yo-yoing back and forth as he tried to keep track of _his_ hockey players, the only two remaining consistent in placing being Bev, poised in goal, and Mike, who was working hard in his spot as defenseman. Richie and Bill both seemed to constantly zip around the rink, their responsibility of scoring weighing heavy on their shoulders. Richie was by far the fastest player on the ice in reactions and speed, he would fly from end to end in less than seconds, his face plastered into one of elated determination.  
It was only watching them play for real that Eddie realized just how _good_ the team was. Their tight-knit friendship translated seamlessly onto the ice as they worked like a well-oiled machine, pushing and pulling them back and forth to wherever they needed to be. Eddie didn’t need to be an expert in the sport to know that the other team was in over their heads. 

Within minutes of the puck hitting the ice for the first time, Richie scored the first goal of the evening, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Eddie latched onto Stan and Ben, the three of them jumping around with manic smiles, unable to repress the rush of endorphins that were currently overpowering their systems. He watched as Bill, Bev, and Richie did a similar dance, Bev whooping and dancing from her spot on the other side of the rink. The cheers never seemed to cease, support being huge considering it was a home game.

The whole game seemed to carry on like that, Richie scoring every few minutes, along with Bill getting in a fair few points of his own. The other team was _hopeless_ when faced with the Trashmouth. Eddie had thought that Bev was joking when she said that Richie was a monster on the ice. Every time the puck smashed into the back of the goal, Richie would turn to where Eddie was sat in the stands, throwing him a smile and, if he was lucky, an overdramatic wink. It was weird to see his friend without his thick-rimmed, black glasses but the jersey more than made up for it.

He’d felt almost disappointed when the game ended, feeling as though the whole ordeal couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. He’d been almost as twitchy as Richie as they waited for the crowds to disperse, the Coach quickly recognizing them and offering them a seat in the teams’ common room. Despite the many practices all three of them had attended, neither him, Ben nor Stan had ever been taken there before, all three of them wandering around to check out the various trophies and paraphernalia that hung on the walls. It was a fairly simple space, soft couches with a large tv, speakers and a very small, grimy kitchen crammed into the corner. 

The three of them had been unable to stop talking as they took their places on one of the couches, their hands waving frantically as they recounted the highlights of the game. Eddie had burst up from his seat when Richie was the first to emerge from the changing rooms, wrapping his arms around his friend, almost bowling him over with the force of his hug.

“Woah, woah, Eds,” Richie’s voice was deep and throaty, probably from shouting the entire game, “I was not expecting that, you little firecracker.”

“You were so good!” Eddie bounced, wild with energy, “That was incredible!”

“Great work, Rich,” Ben hummed in agreement as Stan added a pleased,

“You were amazing, Richie.”

“Aww, shucks, you guys. I usually only accept praise in bed but I’ll make an exception just this once,” Richie hid his face in his shoulder in mock embarrassment, his teeth pulled into a wide smile.

“Seriously,” Eddie quieted his voice, squeezing his hand on Richie’s shoulder, “I’m so fucking proud of you.” The other boy seemed to stop at the acclaim, his eyes rocketing back and forth as he seemed unsure of how to deal with Eddie’s genuine compliment. He was almost sure that he could see tears welling in the corners of Richie’s eyes as he hugged him closer.

“Thanks, Eddie.” It was barely a mumble.

The spirits soon picked up again as the rest of the team emerged, the whole group being quickly smothered in hugs and general affection. Richie seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet as the whole process went down, wrapped in some kind of blanket of shock that made his leg twitch faster than it ever had done before but made his sentences slow to a halt. The boy in question had declined when Bill had brought the beers out of the fridge, passing them around,

“Promised I’d drive Eds home this evening,” Richie tutted with some kind of smile, “Couldn’t possibly compromise the safety of my little munchkin.”

“If you ever call me that again,” Eddie paused to take a swig of his drink, “I will personally locate a pack of dogs to feed you to.”

They’d spent the next two hours or so in some kind of partying haze, music blasting from the tv as they pushed the couches out of the way to form a makeshift dance floor. Eddie danced in a circle with Mike and Stan, the three of them collapsing into fits of giggles as some god awful pop song blared from the speakers. Eddie could see Richie and Bev out of the corner of his eyes, her arm snug around his waist as he lay his head atop of hers, her hand drawing tiny circles into his thigh. He knew that they were best friends, Richie and Bev had always been the closest out of any of the group, but Eddie couldn’t fight the feeling of _jealousy_ that spat around his stomach, twisting his gut uncomfortably. He told himself it was just the alcohol.

Eventually, they were caught by one of the cleaners who herded them out into the midnight air with no remorse, leaving them huddled together in the car park.

“Well, I suppose I better get this lil’ one home to his mother,” Richie sighed, picking Eddie up bridal style as he squeaked in protest, “You know how cranky they get when they skip their bedtimes.” The rest of the group cheered and whistled as Eddie was carried to the front seat of Richie’s pickup, making sure to check that his bags were still secure in the back. 

Richie had agreed to take Eddie home for Christmas as soon as he’d realized that they would both be heading in the same direction. Eddie had later found out that Richie lived only an hour from campus as opposed to Eddie’s two and a half hours yet continued to insist that he saw his ‘favorite little chipmunk’ safely home. Worry sat heavy in his stomach regarding the hour and a half Richie would have to drive back by himself in the early hours of the morning, but he was calmed by the fact that Richie hadn’t had anything to drink.

They settled into a peaceful silence, Richie sitting a cigarette between his lips in what had become a regular occurrence when nobody else but Eddie was around. Eddie hated that smoking was something that Richie entertained, however, he’d be a liar to say it didn’t make it feel somewhat special; that was a side of Richie that only Eddie saw and it was _his_. Music danced softly from Richie’s old stereo, some old 60s pop wafting delicately around the space. 

Eddie felt as though he was at war as he watched Richie beside him. Eddie wasn’t gay. Eddie Kaspbrak’s mother told him that there was nothing you could be that was worse than being gay- she’d quickly shot down any questions he’d had about boys with swears and newspaper clippings about the 80s AIDS outbreak and different church leaflets about conversion therapy. The more that he thought about it, the more that he realized that had been a threat; a warning to tell him what would happen if Eddie liked men as anything more than friends.

But there was a reason Eddie Kaspbrak hadn’t kissed anyone. There was a reason Eddie Kaspbrak was still a virgin. Girls were pretty but there was always a reason for him to pull away, turn them down and tell them that they were getting the wrong impression- even if he didn’t know what that reason was.

With Richie Tozier sat beside him, smoke curling out of his mouth and his face illuminated in the night by the orange filtered end of his Winston, Eddie thought he knew what that reason was.

He was broken out of his trance about 45 minutes into their journey when the truck began to splutter, hissing out plumes of smoke from the engine and sending Richie into a fever.

“Oh fuck!” He spat as he pulled over, “Oh shit! No, fuck! For fucks sake!”

“What’s wrong with it?” Eddie grasped onto the dashboard with all of his strength, any residual doziness from his daze being batted away by the fear of some kind of explosion echoing in his ears.

“That, my dear Eds, is the sound of a dying car,” Richie climbed out of the truck, slamming the door shut with a crescendo of curses. Eddie watched cluelessly as his friend rummaged through the front of the car, jumping when Richie would let out an extremely loud set of profanities every few minutes. He was sat alone in the passenger seat for at least half an hour before Richie finally appeared at the window, oil and a defeated look on his face.

“How bad is it?” Eddie had asked, sure to keep an understanding smile on his face for Richie’s sake.

“Bad enough that we’re not going anywhere else in it tonight.”

“Richie, what?” Eddie coughed, gasping almost as much as the truck itself, “We’re in the middle of nowhere we can’t just _stay here_!”

“Relax, Spaghetts,” Richie grasped Eddie’s hand in his own, warm pair, “I know you’re a little stress fiend. I called someone.”

* * *

The ride to the Tozier household had been an awkward one to say the least. Eddie didn’t know what he had expected Wentworth Tozier to look like when he stepped out of an expensive-looking car on the side of the road, but he hadn’t expected some LA plastic surgeon look-alike with _too white_ teeth and salt and pepper hair. In spite of his reservations, Eddie probably would have gotten in anyone’s car given he felt as though he was a few short minutes away from pneumonia.

Seeing Richie stood next to his father almost made him want to ask if Richie had been adopted because he seemed to bare neither the nature nor physical qualities of the man. They’d been yet to make any form of contact as they climbed into the car, Eddie drawing the backseat by process of elimination- it seemed the only thing Richie gathered from his father was his height.

“Are you at school with Richard?” Wentworth’s voice was frosty, detached and emotionless as he bared Eddie the simple courtesies of a human being. He had to try and stifle his laughter at Richie’s full name, falling into the same category as Bill. It just really didn’t suit their lanky friend.

“Uh, yes, sir. I study medicine,” Eddie made sure to keep his words short and respectful in the way that his mother had taught him to. Richie scoffed, not taking his gaze away from the passing cars. His father was seemingly unphased by the response, the only indication that he had heard anything his son said being the whitening of his knuckles on the steering wheel.

Richie pulled out his pack of Winstons and rolled down the window. Now _that_ made Wentworth’s jaw drop.

“Richard, I have to go to work in this car-” The man began before he was cut off,

“Oh, save it, Wentworth,” Richie mumbled around the cigarette, watching the flame on his lighter dance, “You haven’t got to go to work for the next month.” Richie spoke to his father with the same iciness he did when Eddie overstepped a boundary; the only difference was he experienced that side of Richie in short bursts, with his father it was a constant stream of bitter emotion. 

Eddie let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding as they pulled into what he assumed was the Tozier residence. The first thing that he noticed about the place was _holy shit it's huge_. It was bordering on a mansion with its large clean windows and _at least_ 3 floors of height. The building itself was hidden from the road, surrounded by a collection of trees and greenery, submerging it away from the eyes of the masses. Eddie thought he was dreaming when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel and they pulled to a halt because this wasn’t a mistake, this was where Richie had _lived_.

Richie rocketed out of the car, quickly stubbing his cigarette beneath his boot and catapulting himself towards the front door; with each step the resentment with which he seemed to hold his father melted away. Eddie stood awkwardly by the car, not wanting to invade upon their household unannounced, however, Wentworth removed his face from his palms to give him a pointed look that screamed ‘leave me alone’ from where he was leaned on the car. Eddie, knowing how to take a hint, followed in Richie’s footsteps and made his way up to the front door.

The door swung open just as Eddie climbed all of the steps. Before he could get a good look at who had answered, Richie engulfed the figure in a bear hug, his large frame enveloping whoever it was that had greeted him.

“Hey Mom,” His words were muted as he rested his chin on his mother’s head, eyes closed tight as though he was pleading for the tears to remain behind his eyes. When he pulled back, Eddie got a  
glimpse of the woman for the first time. The lack of similarities between Wentworth and Richie was more than made up for by the woman, who, if Eddie hadn’t known better, he would assume to have been Richie’s sister. 

Mrs. Tozier had a weight to her presence; her smile was lined heavy with the mark of somebody who’d struggled through life yet come out victorious; it was more than clear that she was living a well enough life as of now anyway. Her and Richie were almost identical physically, the only major difference being their height- even Eddie dwarfed the woman. They had the same swirling coffee eyes and tousled dark curls, only hers’ stretched down her back in long tangles. She was surprisingly punk-rockesque for somebody who had to easily be in her mid-to-late 40s, a face littered with piercings and the scars of even more.

“Richard!” She swatted his arm playfully, tugging him close to her side, “You didn’t even think to introduce your friend to me!”

“Oh, Mother Dearest. How could I?” Richie coughed, voice still husky from the smoke, “My noble companion here is Edward Kaspbrak, an amigo of mine. He studies medicine, I know, boring.” Eddie stuck his tongue in his friend’s direction and held a hand out towards Mrs. Tozier.

“Please, uh, call me Eddie. Thank you for letting me come back with Richie, it’s a pleasure to-“ Eddie was cut off as his hand was slapped aside and he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, the woman surprisingly strong for someone of her stature.

“Oh, what a darling! Call me Maggie, please,” She let go and leaned back to look over him, “Very nice. The pleasures all mine. Richie, sweetheart, you’ve done well for yourself.” Eddie felt the blood rush to his cheeks; he coughed as spit found its way into his throat.

“Oh no, Mrs- Maggie,” he gasped, “You’ve, uh, got the wrong idea. We’re not-“

“He says that,” Richie’s grin was filled with deviance, “But he’s choked on much more than spit-“

“RICHARD!” She smacked a tea towel against her sons’ ass, snorting as he jumped with a yowl. She was scolding him but there was adoration in her features, “Leave the poor boy alone. He’s probably traumatized enough after being in a car with you for 45 minutes.”

The trio found themselves laughing outside the house for at least another half an hour, Eddie watching gleefully as Richie and Maggie bantered back and forth. Within seconds of meeting the woman, Maggie Tozier made him feel like he’d known her for years, wrapping him in affection and laughing at the jokes they both relished in at Richie’s expense.

Their gathering, however, was interrupted by a brittle cough and the glare of Wentworth Tozier, pointing towards the doorway that they were covering as of current.

“Oh, father,” Richie spat, his voice laced with malice, “Is our happiness inconveniencing you? I deeply apologize.”

“Richie,” Maggie almost begged, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, coaxing him out of the way, “Please, be nice to your father.”

As they all decided to make their way inside Eddie was struck by just how rich the family must be. The place was startlingly modern, the décor seeming as though it had been ripped straight from an IKEA catalog. In spite of that, there were little pockets of eccentricity dotted about the place, no doubt coming straight from Richie and Maggie themselves. 

It didn’t take long for Wentworth to retire for what was probably the second time that night, disappearing up the stairs without a word of warning. He couldn’t suppress his giggle as Richie flipped off the man to his back, winking at Eddie as he did so. Maggie immediately insisted that they must be starving after their journey despite Richie laughing and telling her that they barely drove most of the way there. Eddie loved watching the pair of them mill around the space, he wasn’t sure he’d seen anyone as acclimatized to Richie’s erratic nature than maybe Bev. Maggie filled the empty air with all sorts of teasing anecdotes, more often than not followed by Richie’s groans.

“-Oh my, you should’ve seen his fathers’ face,” Maggie was snorting in the same way that Richie did when he burst out laughing halfway into a joke, the jar of peanut butter in her hands almost slipping as she did so. Richie took it wordlessly and popped it open. “He didn’t have a party or anything. It was just him and he’d _trashed_ the place! I suppose it was for the better we moved though, that place was always too small for all of us Toziers. Well, and other reasons.”

“Mom,” Richie’s voice was one of warning; not the usual detached warning that he gave, instead it was almost begging.

“But I’m sure Richie’s opened up to you about all of that,” Maggie sighed, “That was one of the things that his therapist brought up-“

“MOM!” It was Richie’s turn to drop the peanut butter, watching as the glass shattered over the kitchen floor. Maggie didn’t seem particularly startled by the outburst, instead staring at her son with masses of concern, a mess of blood and peanut butter dripping from between his fingers. She simply pursed her lips and pushed a coffee in Eddie’s direction with a soft smile,

“Could you give me and Richie a few minutes, Eddie?” There was nothing but kindness in her voice, “There’s a couch around the corner there, we’ll be out in a minute.”

Eddie did as he was told, not wanting to impose on whatever was going on amidst the family. He couldn’t help feel a stab of guilt at the revelation though, it had never occurred to him that Richie might be anything more than a fun-loving trickster. The idea of the boy that he’d come to love spending time with in therapy almost made him feel sick, it was so not Richie. 

He picked up bits and pieces as he sipped his drink:

_Doesn’t know what happened_

_Sorry darling_

_Don’t want him to see me like_

_I know sweetheart_

_Dad just_

_I know_

Eddie was startled as he turned his ear away from the kitchen only to be met with two eyes staring back at him. He let out a little yelp as the little girl drew closer and _oh my god this is exactly the kind of house he would expect to be haunted-_

“Who are you? Why are you on my couch?” She too had the Tozier curls, only her eyes were a startling blue in the darkness (Eddie realized this as she plopped herself next to him on the couch). The girl couldn’t have been more than six years old, a bundle of energy encased in pink sparkly Barbie pajamas.

“Uh, I’m Eddie,” He began nervously, “I’m Richie’s friend.”

“RICHIE!” The girl screamed at the top of her lungs, causing Eddie to drop his cup onto the floor in surprise. “RICHIE’S HOME!”

“You BET HE IS!” Eddie was scared for a second time as his friend had slipped behind them, scooping up what Eddie assumed to be his younger sister and tossing her around playfully in utter disregard of the hand that he now had bandaged. “Spaghetts, I see you have come to meet Mrs. Natalie. Mrs. Natalie, this is your future brother-in-law, say hello.”

“Shut the fu- _dge_ up, Richie!” Eddie stammered, still catching his breath as Maggie laughed from the kitchen.

“Yeah, shut the fuck up, Richie,” Natalie echoed, a proud smile on her face.

“Woah! Woah!” Richie cringed as he placed her back on the sofa, “We don’t say words like that. You know what happens when we say bad words?”

“Magic Mike comes out of the drainpipe to steal us,” Natalie recited dutifully with a mournful look. Eddie felt like he was in some kind of fever dream, _what the fuck is going on?_

“C’mon, tyke,” Maggie teased, picking up her daughter, “Time to go back to bed, you’ve seen your brother. Say goodnight.” It was clear to see that the young girl was exhausted despite her bubbling outbursts; her farewells were decorated with various yawns and sleepy blinks as Maggie threw a wink in their direction and disappeared up the stairs.

“Magic Mike?” Eddie asked incredulously, pinching his thigh to ensure he was _actually_ awake.

“The first time she swore I had to think fast,” Richie threw himself onto the couch, planting his mass of curly hair on said thigh, “I had just watched Magic Mike, we were in the kitchen and there was a painting of a mouse in our old house. Voila, Magic Mike the Mouse who crawls out of drains to kidnap children who curse.” 

Eddie found himself unable to hold back his laughter, exhausted from the day’s events. Richie joined in almost instantly, the pair of them collapsing into each other on the couch as they gasped for breath, tears pooling at the corners of their eyes. Eddie watched as Richie curled in on himself, pounding at his chest to try and suppress some of the _horrendous_ sounds that were making their way out of his throat. It didn’t take long for the laughter to die out into labored breathing, the pair of them twisting into the pillows. Eventually, even their breathing calmed down and Eddie realized-

Richie was asleep.

Eddie didn’t dare wake his friend, instead choosing to make himself comfortable for the night. Eddie felt surprisingly content with Richie’s head buried in his stomach, the only sound filling the empty house being the boy’s snores. It wasn’t long until Eddie too found himself dozing off. Despite his best efforts, as his world began to blacken, he found it impossible to remove the questions he had about Richie Tozier from behind his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew- this one is definitely the longest chapter i've written thus far.
> 
> enjoy it cause just uh...FYI...i heard on the street things are about to get _real_ bad _real_ fast.
> 
> i love love love reading everybody's comments, however, i don't really reply to comments here (i do read every single one though, don't worry!) -----> if anyone wants to send in an ask or a comment or ANYthING (I'm a whore for attention okay), then my Tumblr is @literary-shitstorm so don't hesitate to come say hello over there
> 
> i hope just enjoyed this and, uh, like i said: strap in because it's a slow decline from here folks


	4. Playing Richie Tozier: Act One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are trigger warnings for this chapter, I don't want to write them here as they will spoil the chapter but if you feel like you could be affected by sensitive topics PLEASE check the notes at the end!!

Richie Tozier’s life often felt like a series of mistakes that led him to where he was; a pile of dominos clicking along, falling down one by one. Stability wasn’t a concept he’d been familiar with in more ways than one, he sure as hell wasn’t a _stable_ person and his life wasn’t particularly stable either. He could laugh and turn it into a joke, but it was with absolute certainty that he could say another domino would fall. He would undoubtedly break everything and he would have to start again. 

It wasn’t like he could blame it on his upbringing or his parents, Richie had the life that lots of people went to sleep dreaming of. His parents weren’t millionaires or anything but he could always be sure that he would come home to food on the table and a bed to sleep in. Richie adored Maggie Tozier, he couldn’t fault the woman if he tried. Although she had definitely mellowed in her old(er) age, one look into her eyes told him that she had been just the same as him in her youth; a troublemaker who struggled to find his niche in the world. Regardless of what he did, she would never shout at him, instead she would sit him down and they would _talk_ about the seemingly endless problems that Richie faced. However, that didn’t last forever. He stopped confiding in his mother about the things he did in the darkness as soon as he hit 13. 

Richie’s relationship with his father had always been more complicated. 

If you imagined a picket-fenced house with a perfect family, trees and a dog, Wentworth Tozier would be the man that you imagined to be the father. The man was a traditionalist, parading around with his ideas about his ideal family and the expectations they had to adhere to. Wentworth had a very specific image of how he wanted his life to play out and Richie learned pretty early on that a child riddled with issues and ADHD was not part of that plan. It didn’t take him long to come to terms with the fact that he would never be anything but a disappointment to his father, it took him longer to realize that it wasn’t his fault and he still found rage bubbling in his throat when he saw the man- so _not_ fully over it. 

To top off the domestic fantasy, Richie found himself in the middle of a set of siblings where he could not have been more of a sore thumb. The eldest of the bunch was Johnny- Richie barely knew the guy. He had just touched 5 when Johnny was shipped off to some academic boarding school at the tender age of 12, being considered a young genius and _all that_. Ever since, Richie’s brother had been in and out of different blocks of education, traveling off someplace far away on the other side of the country where Richie never got to know him. By the time Johnny Tozier started to return to the nest, Richie was far too absorbed in his own problems to be bothered to change their relationship. Johnny was too much like their father. 

Then there was Steph, the textbook specimen of a big sister. She, unlike Johnny, had only 2 years on Richie and their closeness in age led to both good times and bad. Richie was sure he had never swung more punches at anyone than he had Steph- she wasn’t hesitant to return them, though. Richie had thoroughly enjoyed the month that they had gone to the same school; it didn’t take long for him to get kicked out, Steph sticking her tongue out at him on her way past as he sat bloody in the Principals’ office. Whenever their mother was unavailable, Stephanie Tozier was the next person that Richie found himself turning to. She stopped talking to him for a few years when he turned 14. 

Richie’s undisputed personal favorite of the bunch was Natalie, an albeit unexpected arrival, sharing the same birthday as himself- only 14 years later. Despite being in a _world of shit_ at the time Nat came around, Richie was always sure to make time for her, determined to be at least some kind of role model to the girl that he would coax to sleep when he came back at 3am under the cover of darkness. Nat was the only one who never hated Richie for the things that he had done; it was kind of cheating, considering she was far too young to understand the irreparable damage he had inflicted but he took it as a win nonetheless. 

People often assumed that Richie was a happy person. He almost enjoyed the look on their face when they realized that they were _so, so wrong_. They failed how to see how the famed comedian, class clown and overall little shit could be anything but a ray of sunshine in the world- _how could Richie be anything but elated when he cracked so many sick jokes?_

It started with cigarettes. They had been the reason he got kicked out of his second school. Turns out, lighting one up in the middle of English wasn’t a socially acceptable thing to do, especially because Toby Brian was asthmatic and sat only two seats behind him. Richie always made sure to ask if people were asthmatic from then on. 

It wasn’t like he was desperate to rebel or anything like that, Richie just followed his own set of rules that didn’t always comply with the rules of those around him. As he got older, they stopped being playground rules and started to become- you know- _laws_

_.  
_

Ice hockey and smoking were Richie’s only outputs at the age of 12, the two things that he could wrap his mind around and immerse himself in. They made it easy for him to escape any situation, his freedom in a world where he felt shackled to the ground. Want a breather? _Going for a smoke_. Need a few minutes to yourself? _Going to practice_. 

Richie had always been a natural talent when it came to the sport, it had been a background part of his life for as long as he could remember. His various coaches (he was as good at getting kicked off teams as he was as getting kicked out of schools) would laugh the moment they saw him hit the ice- no doubt delighted to have a powerhouse like Richie in their mix. As always, they eventually realised that he was more of a disadvantage than anything else. 

The world felt far too tame for it to be somewhere that Richie lived. Nothing pissed him off more than the way that people would dance around each other- blatantly avoiding what needed to be said. Whether that was because he found himself unable to stop words falling out of his mouth, was a different story. 

Richie had never hated his ADHD until he met other children. Until then, people had laughed at his jokes and listened to the stories that his mind could concoct. All of a sudden, almost overnight, people didn’t want to hear about him or his mind anymore- but that wasn’t fair because they could stop listening but that didn’t mean that his mind stopped working. He was _trapped_ with it. 

Hockey and Smoking. They became his crutches in life. 

Enter _Weed and Cocaine_. 

Like most of the drug-addicted people in the world, Richie never thought that he would be the one to get hooked. He never even thought that he would try it. He and every other youth had been subjected to the talks and the _‘your body before and after drugs’_ videos; of course, he didn’t really care, who did? It was never going to apply to him so why should he have to listen? That seemed to be the case until, before he knew it, he was sat in a car pulled off the side of the road in the middle of fucking nowhere getting high as a kite with people he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before in his life. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t know how bad he had it, he was self-aware enough to know that he was gone. By the time he was 14 there wasn’t a day he didn’t smoke _something_. He barely went to school, only rocked up home once every few days to let his mother and _newborn baby sister_ know that he was still stringing it along. Just barely surviving. Every bridge that had connected him to the people that mattered he burnt without a care in the world, all too in favor of building new ones, out of broken glass and needles- far too fragile to support the weight he carried on his shoulders. 

Richie isn’t one of those people who looked back in shame at the things he did- he felt regret regarding his family, the way he treated his mother and, begrudgingly, his father. They didn’t deserve to deal with the inflictions of his issues. Never once did he regret the drugs, though. They let him see color in a world of black and white, calming his mind all whilst taking him to a place beyond the constraints of reality. Drugs suited Richie and he suited them just fine. It was a toxic relationship, taking and fighting with absolutely no give but he just _couldn’t get enough_. 

Things really took a turn when he stopped going to school, decided to fully invest his time into committing petty crimes and getting high. It would be pointless to pretend that he could remember anything that happened to him between the ages of 14 and 17, the whole time was just a series of distortions and experiences, like when you take a photo and it's just blurry enough that you can’t really make out what’s happening- you just have a recollection of when and where. It didn’t really upset him that he had no recall of that period; looking back, Richie felt he could safely say that he had enough self-loathing toiling in his stomach without needing the atrocities he committed during that period to creep up on him. 

He hit rock bottom at age 18. He’d been falling for years, constantly thinking he had hit the lowest of the low only to find that there was a whole new layer of _fucked up_ for him to peel back- only this time he had really done it. 

On April 3rd, Stephanie found him passed out on the floor of her bathroom, body shutting down because of an overdose. 

It was a miracle it didn’t happen earlier with everything that Richie crammed into his system on a daily basis. Regardless of how hard he tried, he could never remember what it was he had taken that night- it could’ve been anything. There was the doctors’ report, of course, but he’d never been able to bring himself to read through it. Not after he saw his mother sobbing at the side of his bed with it crinkled between her fingertips. It had been a surreal experience to wake up hooked up to the machines with the sickeningly sterile yet unmistakable stench of hospital invading every single one of his senses; it was like a scene from a movie. He was sober for the first time in a long time but he’d never felt more alienated from the rest of the world. 

It had felt like he was staring with somebody else’s eyes when they first peeled open. His mother had been clutching his hand far too tightly for either of them to be comfortable, her fingers a painful white color wrapped around his even paler hand. Surprisingly, Johnny had sat in the chair tucked away in the corner of the room with Natalie, bubbly as ever, wandering around at his feet; his brother had a vacant look, a pitiful expression that seemed to be directed nowhere but the floor. Lastly, Steph sat on the floor with tear-streaked foundation and watery mascara, rocking back and forth on her heels, letting out a wince every so often. 

His father was nowhere to be seen. 

The only feasible way he could explain that evening was that it felt like his brain was in a blender, the cruel feeling of being sober grating almost metallically against his skull. He’d seen various doctors over the course of that night; _Jesus, it felt like every single person in the hospital wanted to come and speak to him when all he wanted to do was sleep_. Something he remembered with absolute clarity, however, was when the doctors had been talking to him about rehabilitation. 

_“We have a few options of things we could do,” The nurse's voice was hushed and soothing, something that Richie very much appreciated in his current state. She may have been talking about his future but her eyes were unmistakably pointed towards his mother, “There are different kinds of rehab. For Richard’s situation, the best suggestion would probably be some kind of residential-“_

_“He’s not going anywhere,” A hoarse voice had cut through, Wentworth Tozier stood looking soaked and deathly in the doorway, “I’m not- We’re not paying for him to go anywhere. He’s fucked himself up, I refuse to fix him.”_

The peace hadn’t lasted long in his room after that. Richie had never seen his parents fight properly before that night, his mother had screamed at his father until her throat seemed to close. More surprisingly than anything else, his father had screamed back. The man had never shown that much emotion for as long as Richie could remember. 

He knew the deal had been sealed as Wentworth Tozier exited the room as the sun began to rise, gracing them with his parting words: 

_“It would’ve been easier if he hadn’t made it.”_

Maggie had climbed into bed with him after that (his siblings had left long before to get Natalie to bed), letting him rest his head on her stomach as she rattled his brain around his skull with the wracking sobs that would emit from her body every few seconds. She was running her hands through his tangled, unwashed curls- Richie didn’t dare complain about how much it hurt, the feeling of her nails scraping against his mind. 

It was when the nurse that Wentworth had so carelessly sent away returned, nervous, that the atmosphere in the room began to change. For the positive or negative, Richie wasn’t sure. 

_“I don’t mean to pry,” Her voice was quaint, “I know your father expressed his opinions of your rehabilitation- but you mentioned that he- you’re a hockey player?”_

_“Was on skates as soon as he was on his feet, weren’t you sweetheart?” His mother had hummed, not ceasing the drags of her fingers through his locks, “He’s very good.”_

_“There’s this scheme that is currently going on. It’s a state thing, about giving addicted teenagers educational opportunities. Does Richie want to go to college?”_

Enter Hockey. 

* * *

Richie couldn’t stop the laughter that tickled the back of his throat as he took one glance at the line up in front of him. _Oh jeez, this team._

The coach had been waiting for him when his mother had ushered him out of the car with ‘comforting’ squeezes on his arms and even less comforting hugs that made him feel as though the blood was being forced from his body. Oscar- or _Butch_ (Richie had to laugh)- Bowers introduced himself with a stern face but a kind quirk to his smile, quickly explaining that they were happy to have him here, particularly after the man had seen him play just a few months prior. Of course, just like everyone else, he couldn’t make it the whole conversation without making some reference to Richie’s _problems_ and how they would have to ‘sit down at some point to discuss how they would move forward’. 

It was on the way through the reception after a teary goodbye from Maggie that Coach explained that the hockey team had come back a few weeks before the rest of campus, both to get settled into the hockey dorms and get training for an early advantage. Richie, on the other hand, had been invited to come to campus early because he had about a thousand meetings he needed to attend and even more people he needed to meet and ‘thank profusely’ as his counselor had so _eloquently_ put it. Richie scoffed as the man insisted that the team were desperate to meet him, and he downright burst into fits of laughter as they entered the rink and he saw the looks that graced their faces. 

_Oh yeah, fucking desperate they were._

The whole group looked as though they were preparing for some kind of firing squad as they stood in an obviously ordered line, each one of them casting sideways glances to each other- some were nervous, some angry, others mocking. It took Richie seconds to notice that there was a clear divide between two sides of the team, just purely on the larger gap between two players and the smaller gaps between all the rest. Richie always tended to notice things like that, the other things people overlooked whilst they carried on spitting out words into a world that didn’t really matter. _God, he needed a cigarette._

On one hand there was a group of kids, so enormous in size Richie was half convinced that all of them had to have at least one parent who had been banging a rhinoceros just to achieve that monstrous physique. He didn’t need to take another glance in their direction, Richie had met people like that more than enough to be able to tell who they were without needing to waste a single breath on getting to know them better; sometimes he’d smoked with people like that, sometimes he’d gotten in fights with people like that- most of the time, he’d been pummelled into the ground by people like that. He didn’t care for them, is the point. 

On the other hand, there was a group that all together seemed introverted. Group was a generous term, there was only three of them and the two on the ends curved in to face the middle, seemingly doing everything they could to avoid being associated with the group of elephants that stood directly to their left. In the middle was a girl with hair so bright it seemed to flicker under the stadium lights, wayward strands burning around her face as she whipped her head from side-to-side to interact with each of her friends. Richie had never seen a girl in hockey before, let alone a girl on a team of boys- his respect for her was almost immediate. That and the fact that she didn’t bat an eyelid the moment she saw him approach. 

The other two, however, they made his gut wrench in the not-good way. The one closest to him was tall and broad with jet black hair and a warm umber complexion, he didn’t seem to be aggressive in stance, but his eyes had a certainty to them that echoed Richie’s memories of his father- stern and unwavering. The other, well, _he may as well have been a Ken Doll for fuck's sake_. He stood there, blatantly staring at Richie with a look that screamed ‘I don’t want you here’, all while tossing the auburn strands that waved over his eyes out of his sculpted face. _Puberty must’ve fucking loved somebody_. If Richie was drunk or high- well, he definitely would have tried to sleep with this mystery fellow. _He was fucking hot_. But glaring at him from across an ice rink? Richie wanted nothing more than to slap that look off his face. 

Richie hadn’t even met any of them and he already felt like a Tetris block in a game of Jenga. 

“Gentlemen- and lady,” The Coach paused, nodding towards the girl with a polite smile. _Give me a fucking break_. “This here is Richie Tozier. He’s going to be joining you when the year starts again. I’ve told you all that we would be welcoming a new member- Richie is here on a drug rehabilitation scheme and he’s going to be studying American Literature and Sports Science.” 

“T-This kid is s-some idiot jun-kie,” The auburn kid spat, “No fucking way.” 

“Fuck you,” Richie spat before he could stop the words forming, “I’ve got a fucking 5.0 GPA, asshole, who’s the _fucking_ idiot?” 

“Okay, Richie,” Coach pressed a hand into Richie’s shoulder and he wished for the loving squeeze his mother had given him only minutes before, “Bill, how about we calm down? Bill, you’ve seen Richie play on tape, you know he’s a worthy investment?” 

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Richie felt the rising bile in the back of his throat, “ _Investment?_ I knew this was a fucking mistake. To save all of you the trouble, I’m addicted to _cocaine_ and you know what? I like dick _and_ pussy. Yes, I can play hockey. No, I’m not going to stay somewhere where I’m not fucking wanted. _Been there, done that_. Adios, motherfuckers.” He made the final statement with the addition of a Winston to between his lips, the click of his lighter sounding out between his two final words. 

Well, that was quick. 

He didn’t care to stay and watch the look on their faces- he usually relished in the shock that passed over faces when he spoke without a filter but there was far too much rage burning through his veins to cope with even seeing another person so he turned on his heel and powered through the emergency exit. 

_Was this the rest of his life?_ Would people stare at him for the rest of time and only see the drugs? Richie had always known that he’d die a nobody, probably kill himself working some dead-end job and nobody would care. But to be _less than that_. To be somebody that people cared about- but they cared enough to _hate_. To spend the rest of time being looked at like the gum on the bottom of somebody shoe- always coming back at inconvenient times to make those in respectable society look bad. Hell, maybe he should just kill himself _now_. 

“Got a-“ 

“Fuck off,” he spat, pulling the cigarette from his lips before the voice even registered. He turned around to see the girl that he had been staring at before, totally unphased by his outburst. Instead, she simply plucked the thing from his fingers and sat it between her own lips. 

“I took that one off your hands. Now _you_ get a new one. Lucky,” She said with a smile, reclining against a miscellaneous car (he wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up back in the car park but- whatever). “That was quite a display you put on back there. For a second I thought we were at the confessional.” 

“When you’re me, everywhere is a confessional,” Richie wasted no time pulling another cigarette out and lighting it, dreading the seconds between his vices. 

“You look like you’ve seen some shit,” She continued, either utterly oblivious or utterly ignorant of his tone. Just based on the look in her eyes, he would go with the latter. 

“So do you, sugartits,” He mused, all-too-aware of the sharkish grin that he could prevent from pulling up against his cheekbones. 

“Okay, what the fuck,” She snorted, pulling back with a bemused look carved into her eyebrows, “Do you make a habit of calling people sugartits?” 

“Only those without ‘em,” Richie hummed, grunting as she pushed him sideways, “Hey! It’s kind of like false advertising. You look like the kind of girl that could get down with some false advertising.” 

“You know what’s false advertising? The fact that you don’t look like a drug addict. I mean, give us some track marks or something- I mean, Jesus, how are we supposed to know how to avoid you otherwise?” She stared up at him with nothing but good, honest mischief in her eyes. No judgment. 

“Oh, was spending 5 minutes with me not enough to do that?” 

“Touché. My name's Beverly Marsh,” She stuck her nicotine-stained fingers out in front of his face, “Most people call me Bev.” 

“An honor it is to meet thee,” He paused before shaking her hand, “So, are all those assholes as chill as you or do I really need to fucking leave?” 

* * *

It took well into Richie’s first semester at college for him to really integrate into the hockey team. Within minutes of meeting Beverly Marsh, Richie proudly proclaimed in his own mind that, if given the opportunity, he would marry her in a heartbeat. It wasn’t in a sexual- or even romantic- way, but he knew without a doubt that he could sit in a house for years with Bev and he wouldn’t get bored. The girl was on his wavelength 90% of the time and even when she wasn’t, she never faulted him for it.  
It would be a lie to say that Richie and Bev hadn’t gotten stoned together on a semi-regular basis. Neither of them was supposed to be on any kind of drugs given the teams harsh restrictions but it was hard to care when they sat in Richie’s old pickup chatting about the universe and absolutely nothing with the stench of weed submerging them. As for the harder drugs, Bev was under the impression he was clean (along with the rest of the team). She believed that the weed was his way of coping with the absence of the hard stuff, a way to recline with just a taste of the life he had been previously accustomed to.

Little did she know, Richie hadn’t downgraded- he’d fucking _graduated_.

It was true that Richie had somewhat calmed down since becoming a student (a statement not said by many), the times between his highs were longer than they’d been for years. The substances he was taking, however, now _they had gotten worse_. Richie had always heard about speedballs, but he’d never had the opportunity to actually try them- let alone make them a regular experience. They revamped Richie’s high; before, he’d thought he’d reached the peak of what his mind could practice but he was _so wrong_. With speedballs and a spattering of _meth_ every so often- Richie was more than sated as he currently stood. He needed to make life manageable somehow.

He just made sure to only wear sweaters around the team. Which was _most of the time_.

It was the weekend before their first game of the season that Richie finally felt like he had entered the ranks of Bill, Mike and Beverly. The four of them had been hanging out at the apartment Mike had on the outskirts of campus- he had a room in the hockey dorms, however, coming from the countryside Mike enjoyed having a small place to himself he could get away from the masses (that and Bowers’ racist bullying). It hadn’t been anything more than a few beers and a few pizzas- much to Bill’s health-oriented chagrin.

The whole experience was foreign to Richie. The ‘friends’ that Richie had made before weren’t this, weren’t people who he could laugh and watch movies with slumped on a couch with the bottle swinging laxly between his fingers. Before that very second, the people Richie hung around with were either hook-ups to a better state of mind or those who wanted the same hook-up that he was searching for, only from him. The latter generally wandered off fairly quickly, Richie never _dealt_ he only _did_. But staring at those around him, he wondered if this was what if he had been missing out on this entire time- and more pressingly, if he’d have made the choices he did if he’d known things could be this way.

The whole situation became fairly tense as Bev dismissed herself to go and pass out in the spare bedroom, leaving the three of them alone with the television mumbling hesitantly in the atmosphere. Bev seemed to work as a translator between Richie to Mike and Bill, well, more so Bill than Mike. It had taken the boy longer than Beverly but much shorter than Bill to embrace Richie with all his pros and cons, quickly becoming one of Richie’s favorite people.

Despite that, it was silent for a very long time.

“Y-You know, R-Richie, I never ap-ologised for what I said w-when we first me-t?” Bill reclined on the couch, some of the tension beading out as the film that had formed over the stagnant air was finally broken by words.

“Don’t sweat it,” Richie gulped before taking a swig of his beer, “I would have done the same thing- especially as a Captain.”

“Me too, Richie,” Mike’s deep timbre interrupted them, “I may not have outwardly acted-out, but I judged you. We all judged you- but you’re doing better for yourself.”

Well that made his stomach drop.

“Yeah,” Richie hesitated, “I would make a joke about self-care but me? The only self-care I believe in is a good fucking, thank you very much.”

“J-Jesus, Richie,” Bill swept a relaxed hand over his forehead amidst his chuckles, “You never s-stop running yo-ur mouth, do y-you?

“I’d like to think that it adds to my charm and how dare you my motor mouth is useful in a variety of situations,” He paused thoughtfully, “Male or female.”

“Richie’s crude sense of humor aside,” Mike’s voice entered that honest and parental tone that it seemed to sometimes- “It’s really cool how you’re so honest about your sexuality.”- Richie loved it.  
Richie had been correct in his first analysis of Mike; the man was like his father- not like the one he had but the one he _wanted_. There was probably some deep, disturbing reason behind Richie projecting his Daddy Issues onto Mike, but the man rang true with a caring trustworthiness that made Richie want to hug him and never let go. More so than that, Mike was the friend that Richie never thought that he would be able to have; somebody who he felt like he could rely on to always give him not only an honest but a _good_ opinion. Mike was one of the people that actually made Richie feel bad for destroying himself the way that he had.

“Yeah, well, I got bullied anyway,” Richie hummed, clambering up to open the window in an attempt to void Bill’s impending complaints about his habit, “May as well keep it all out in the open. If they’re going to be assholes either way there’s no point hiding anything.”

“But you know you didn’t deserve that, right?” Mike’s voice was delicate in a way that made Richie’s chest ache and tears begin to bead at the corner of his eyes.

“I d-disagree,” Bill raised his hand in mock woe, “R-Richie’s kind of an a-asshole.”

“Fuck you, Big Bill!”

Richie _loved_ his new friends.

* * *

Richie had never played hockey even semi-professionally, he’d never stuck in a team that long. To be in the top five teams and only getting stronger- he’d never known anything like it. Sure, playing ice hockey was taxing both physically and mentally but it was exhilarating in a way that Richie had yet to find a drug to substitute; honestly, that was probably why he was still playing. There was nothing artificial that could mimic the buzz of success. His body felt electric as he sped around the rink, bustling from player to player- existing in a world where a whistle or just one holler of his name sent him reeling in another direction.

Richie was quite an angry person; he always had been and probably always would be. In hockey, done correctly, that was one of his biggest assets. It was the flames that licked upwards from the shards of ice at his heels as he barrelled towards players on his team and others. It was dynamite that sent him spiraling into hunkered groups battling for the puck. It was a detriment to be fearful in hockey and that fire burned bright in his chest and in his game.

It led to some pretty nasty fights though. 

One of those took place during their match against Minnesota. It was no secret that Richie had quickly become the star of the show- not in the eyes of other players but in terms of the fans who dedicated their time to come. Richie had the flashiest role and that made him the favorite in the eyes of most. Not only that, but people seemed to like his sense of humor that even shined through on the ice through various mocking hand gestures. This, however, made him a target to most players on the other teams.

It wasn’t like Richie wasn’t used to some roughhousing; it was practically ingrained in the sport. You’d have to be an idiot to play ice hockey and expect to not to end up on your back more than you’re on your feet. Richie relished in the rough and tumble, it could always be relied upon to add a spike of adrenaline to his system. Things changed on the collegiate circuit; people were mean, and they weren’t knocking you over and offering a helping hand the moment the whistle blew, no, these people wanted to break glass and bones. Richie being the star of the show, his bones were particularly high on their list.

All he could say was: _if that’s how they want to play._

And so, Richie ended up in more fights than the rest of them combined (even Bowers), all whilst desperately insisting that it was the fault of others and not his own twisted nature coming out to play. For the most part, they believed him because they too saw the ways that the crowds cheered when they saw his jersey and the glares that he received from other players. _For the most part_.  
Against Minnesota, well that was the time that went against the most part. Richie had been feeling crabby, lacking a high he had been promised yesterday and was lingering just as long as he got through the match. It always came back to addiction with Richie. Normally, hockey made him feel energized but today he could feel his spirit melting into the ice beneath his skates; his body felt heavier and his mind was only worse. He was angry and he was upset and _goddamn it, he was ready to feel different._

So when some buff himbo started bashing him into the side of the rink, he’d… _lost his cool_.

The whole thing felt like a split second with the adrenaline that finally decided to force its way out of… wherever it came from and coursing through his bloodstream. Richie knew from experience that the first thing you really did if you wanted a fight was rip the helmet of your opponent, there was no real point in grappling if it was just going to be a constant thunk of metal-on-metal. He wasn’t totally unfair though- Richie took his helmet off too.

Before anyone could blink, they were on the ground, skates flying and heads smashing into splintering ice. It didn’t take long for red to spill on the white backdrop and Richie could swear he felt a piece of his tooth washing around his mouth but he felt _alive_ and that was what mattered. Of course, they had waves of teammates washing around them in seconds, gloved fists trying their hardest to drag the pair from each other’s grasp. It was too late though- Richie could feel the blood coating his teeth and he could see how his opponent's nose sat crooked on his face.

Richie got laid off for the rest of the game.

He’d spent the entire time in the showers, scrubbing every inch of his body until some parts bled. Richie’s fight hadn’t been long from the end of the game and he usually spent a long time in the showers anyway, locking himself away in a stall to shower and get changed so that none of his teammates could ridicule him for his body- or even _know_. It wasn’t that he was overly skinny or overweight, Richie was in better shape than he’d ever been before (his abs even had a noticeable tone to them) but it was the new addition of _real track marks_ to his arms and ankles. Sure, he’d had the burns (ever-growing) before but this was different. It wasn’t just a joke between him and Beverly anymore. 

It was when the nosebleeds had started that he made the switch. The red had dripped onto his essay in the middle of his American Lit group session, alarming Stan Uris who sat next to him and was quick to offer him an abundance of tissues. Three times within the next week he came to notice the hot, metallic stench of blood on his person, wiping his face to notice the smear of crimson encasing his fingers. Richie had steered as clear as he could of needles up until that point, hell, he hated getting shots but times were hard and getting through each day was harder. 

He knew that any sane person would quit after their body began to shut down in such a way, it probably scared people into getting help- fuck, it scared _him_. But Richie was more scared of life without drugs than the end of his life altogether. He couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t a part of who he was, he didn’t know what he was without drugs. It was a brand that told the world what type of person he was- rightly or wrongly. 

_To step away from that and let people see him as more than his addiction had become a terrifying concept. Particularly now that he had friends._

That was why he almost screamed when he entered the changing room and Bill Denbrough was sat on the bench waiting for him, staring at the marks on Richie’s arms not yet hidden by the sweatshirt clutched in his fist. 

“R-Richie,” Bill blinked in rapid succession, jaw hanging on a hinge, “Richie, what the _f-fuck_?” 

“ _Shit_ \- Bill, I can-“ 

“Y-YOU SAID YOU WERE C-CLEAN!” In no time at all, Bill was in his face screaming and shouting, spittle flying in every direction. For a split second, Richie wondered if this was how unhinged he appeared to others. 

“I NEVER SAID THAT!” He screamed back, pushing his teammate backward with the strength he could muster. “THAT WAS WHAT YOU ALL DECIDED! I NEVER TOLD YOU I WAS CLEAN! NOT ONCE!” 

“R-Rich, Jesus,” Bill collapsed back onto the bench, rubbing his hands over his eyes in a clear attempt just to process the conversation they were having. “The b-burns and- what you’re doing fucking h…h-heroin now? I thought you were a c-coke ad-dict?” 

“Speedballs,” It was barely a whisper. 

“Holy…H-Holy fuck,” Bill’s voice had softened now, real concern masking his face as the reality of the situation seemed to settle on his shoulders. Logically, Richie knew that this was because Bill was the Captain and he was their star-shooter but that didn’t mean it didn’t burn his brain to see it. “Rich. Richie. That’s n-not okay, you can’t-“ 

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?!” Richie could feel himself boiling over the edge once again, his heels loitering on the brink in a way that was almost teasing, “You don’t fucking know me. Don’t know what I’ve been through. What I deal with.” 

“I k-know you well enough to know t-that you shouldn’t be doi-ng fucking s-speedballs!” Bill’s voice wavered, “I m-mean, don’t you have a counselor, p-people you’re supp-osed to talk to, don’t you have to get drug t-tested just to g-o here?” 

“I’ve been using for 5…nearly 6 years,” He could only offer a pathetic smile, “You think I don’t know how to fake a drug test?” 

The truth was, he’d been getting Bev to take his drug tests for him. Not that she knew the extent of his drug usage. He had told her that if they were going to carry on smoking pot, he needed a way around the drug tests so he didn’t get in any kind of trouble. And because he’s a grade-A asshole, Richie said it full well knowing that she would offer. Bev didn’t use as much as him; once, maybe twice a month. Most of the time, she was clean. 

Each Wednesday at 4:30, Richie had to go take a drug test in front of his drug counselor. 

Each Wednesday at 4:15, Beverly would piss into a test tube and Richie would check it with a home drug kid and hide it in the armpit of his sweatshirt. 

And, well, if Beverly wasn’t clean for whatever reason there were other quick-fixes when it came to drug tests. 

It was a long time before Bill spoke again. 

“Rich…” He trailed off before coughing and straightening himself out again, “R-Rich, what do you want m-me to do he-re? I need to-“ 

“Bill, _please_ ,” Within seconds Richie felt his eyes began to well up, “Bill, you can’t tell on me. This fucking team, you fucking people,” his voice broke, “ _I don’t have anything else_.” 

“R-Rich, you need help. If I let this h-happen then I’m no bet-ter than…” He dropped, “ _You_.” 

“Just the season,” Richie begged, practically groveling, “Just give me until the end of the season and I _promise_ , I’ll tell Coach, I’ll tell the whole team but just give me these few months. I’ll cut down, I’ll-“ 

“Okay,” Bill’s voice was near non-existent, “I…Y-you can have until t-then. But only then.” Bill dragged Richie into a hug, wrapping his arms around his friend’s shoulders and nudging him to do the same. 

“Thanks, man,” Richie’s voice was wet with tears as he tried to stop them from spreading down Bill’s shirt. 

He tried to ignore the way the scabs and burns on his arms screamed as he draped them around Bill in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: DRUG USAGE/ADDICTION and SUICIDAL IDEOLOGY
> 
> so yeah, i told you guys it was gonna hurt...?
> 
> fun fact: i hated writing this chapter so much that i deleted the first draft entirely and started again and _I still hate it._
> 
> Regardless, I hope you all got some enjoyment out of this and stay safe in this time of need! As I've said before I don't really reply to comments on here but if you want to chat to me and ask questions about this or ANYTHING else, my askbox is open @literary-shitstorm on Tumblr!
> 
> Thank you!


	5. Playing the Devil's Advocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, you know that there are probably a few trigger warnings for this by now, but just to be sure: t/w: self-harming/endangering behaviors

Waking up never really stopped being a surreal experience for Eddie; growing up with Sonia for a mother, he was used to waking up to the clatter of cutlery and the thunder of feet as she burst into his room at 3am to sob into his blankets about how the world was going to corrupt him into all sorts of horrible things.

So, when he woke up on the Tozier’s couch to the sound of maniacal giggling from the kitchen he wasn’t as surprised as he could’ve been.

“Gosh Natalina, settle down,” Despite only having been awake for seconds, he immediately recognized Richie’s voice, dramatic accent and all, “Do you have the self-respect of a depressed hooker on steroids?”

“I should fucking hope not,” Came another feminine voice Eddie had been yet to hear up until this point, throwing him off-kilter slightly.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Richie’s tone transformed into one of (hilariously false) horror, “Let’s not spend this fine morning corrupting our poor sister’s virgin ears.”

“First of all, how is me swearing better than you calling our little sister a hooker,” The voice was interrupted by a booming giggle from Nat, “Second of all, if your ears aren’t virgins, I am _seriously_ worried, Rich.”

“Rude. I’ll have you know invasive ear penetration is my favorite thing to wake up to.”

Eddie, for some reason, took that as his cue to enter. It took more effort than he’d thought he had in him to push himself away from the warmth of the couch and into the kitchen, but he found that same warmth washed over him as he entered the space. The whole scene was sickeningly domestic, Richie was flipping pancakes next to the oven, pulling silly faces at Nat who sat snickering at the table whilst a blonde girl, seemingly about his own age, dabbed furiously at the side of- what he guessed was her sisters- mouth.

“Eduardo!” Richie spluttered gleefully, “Eddiekins! Edmister! Spaghetti! My sleeping beauty has arisen!”

“That’s weird, I thought I was hotter when I was awake but if that’s what you’re into,” Eddie quipped back, feeling a small tired smile beginning to form on his lips.

“You snagged yourself a quick one, Rich,” The blonde girl offered him a smile and an open hand, “I’m Steph. Stephanie, I mean. I’m Richie’s older sister.” For the first time, Eddie studied her face; physically, she had the same features most of the other Tozier clan seemed to possess however it was her long, golden locks that set her apart- Eddie could take an educated guess that they were inherited from their now-greying father.

“I’m Eddie,” He shook her hand politely, “Uh, I hate to be rude but is there anywhere I can charge my phone- It died when the truck broke down last night.”

“Over by the sink.”

“Why must you act so saintly, dear Eds?” Richie mused whimsically, “Why must you be so polite when we all know you’re a _dirty nasty bitch_ in private?”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Eddie snorted, reaching up to smack the back of Richie’s head on his way to plug his phone in. The moment the device began to turn on again, he could feel the anxiety building in his chest; he was supposed to be back home over 12 hours ago- he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole state police department was out looking for him. Richie, who seemingly had a knack for sensing such anxiety, passed Eddie little shreds of the pancake he was nibbling at and glided over to stand next to him whilst they waited.

“If you want, I’ll listen to the messages,” Richie’s voice lacked its usual teasing, replaced with sincerity, “I can give you the run down afterward. I was going to offer you a ride home soon anyway.”

“You would do that?” Eddie tried not to let the shock seep into his words yet it seemed slightly impossible. Richie Tozier never failed to surprise him.

“’Course,” Richie added before grinning, “Gotta keep my hoes happy, anything else is bad for business.”

Turns out, Sonia Kaspbrak had been downright furious.

It had almost been hard to watch Richie wince as the screams echoed through his phone; Eddie hadn’t exactly been able to make out what she was saying but he gathered that it wasn’t good. Richie had only shrugged and supplied a quick _‘It’s a long journey so we should probably get going_ ’ before shoving at least 6 pancakes in a tiny tub for the road. Eddie had been forced to stand awkwardly in the doorway as Richie bounded up the stairs two steps at a time to go and inform Maggie of their voyage, returning just as quickly as he’d disappeared.

He’d found it hard not to be amused as he questioned how they’d be traveling considering Richie’s truck was officially in the shop for the holidays, Richie’s only response being to jangle the keys to Wentworth’s silver Mercedes-Benz in front of Eddie’s eyes, a smug smirk lining his features.

That had been an hour ago.

“Are you sure your dad isn’t going to mind?” Eddie could practically feel the whine in his voice but that’s just _who he is_.

“Quit your bitching, mortal,” Richie’s voice was something low and rumbling that could be equated to the likes of Dumbledore or Gandalf, “Of course he will mind, but I will do anything- and I mean _anything_ \- to piss that man off.”

“Why do you hate your dad so much?” The words left Eddie’s mouth before he could bite them back, forcing their way through his teeth and making his heart thunder in his chest. Richie didn’t usually respond positively Eddie’s to questioning of his past or how he got to be on the hockey team, and he wasn’t sure he could bear another hour in the car with Richie’s angry alter-ego.

“He let me down a long time ago,” Richie was surprisingly calm, but his voice lacked the vibrancy it usually did in conversation with Eddie, “I don’t blame him for how he treated me, but my family- _pass me my lighter, please_ \- they deserved better than that.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how to respond after that, simply doing as he was told and reaching over to turn up the soft rock tunes burning through the speakers, sensing the finality in Richie’s tone.  
It was times like these that made him question just how well he really knew the boy sat next to him; Eddie felt that there was a clear distinction in his life thus far, there was a time before Richie and a time after him and he had an almost violent preference for the latter. Eddie had never let anyone see him the way that Richie had. He’d always been far to plagued by anxieties and insecurities to ever let anyone burst the balloon he had been quick to encase himself in as a child. Some had come close, pushing through the rubber to make gestures at him from the outside- but Richie did more than that. Richie didn’t just enter the balloon. Richie popped the balloon. And to top that, he did it with a smile on his face and a cigarette between his fingers, a leather jacket on his back and a squadron of friends ready to encase Eddie in a new, entirely different, far less lonely balloon of their own making.

But when Richie was sat next to him in times like these, so close, void of any smiles and smoke unfurling from his flared nostrils as pale hands gripped around the steering wheel he wondered if he really knew the man at all. Eddie had been quick to confide in Richie about his mother, about his childhood bullies and his well- _childhood, period_ , but he knew nothing about where Richie had really come from, where he hung out as a child and what kind of demons washed up at his feet on a daily basis.

Richie didn’t need to tell Eddie anything for him to know that. Eddie had seen enough demons to know what they looked like.

He couldn’t help but wonder how long they could go on like this. What, was Eddie just supposed to never find out whatever it was that Richie had experienced? How long could this really go on? How many hours could Eddie dedicate to the person who was supposed to be his friend, uncertain if they would ever progress to anything other than the icy cold up-and-downs they had as of current?  
The old Eddie warned him to head back now, back off before he got hurt. The new Eddie wanted _more_.

Richie calmed down surprisingly quickly, the pair of them descending into their usual rambles fairly promptly after Eddie’s train of thought came to an end. It was a weight off his chest to just converse as they had done normally, to chatter with Richie’s quips as a backdrop and Eddie’s retorts as a soundtrack. 

_Is this really worth breaking? Did they really need more than this?_

Time seemed to have passed in an instant as Eddie told Richie which driveway on his childhood street to turn into, taking shallow breaths in and out to try and steel his nerves in preparation for the obvious fight that was about to break out.

Within seconds of the Mercedes engine going quiet, Eddie heard the violent slam of the front door opening to reveal the mother of all monsters herself. One look at her made bile rise in the back of his throat and he silently admired his younger self for ever being able to put up with the woman for years at a time. He was practically an adult now and he could barely look her in the eyes.

“Eddie, Oh Christ,” She was panting by the time she slammed her sweaty palms on the window of the car, leaving gross slimy trails on the glass, “I thought you were dead, Eddie-Bear.”

“ _What the fuck, lady?_ ” Richie sounded positively disturbed as he glanced at the woman who was slathering her hands over his car, glaring daggers in his direction. Eddie had almost forgotten he was there.

“Pardon me,” Sonia sounded utterly gobsmacked at Richie’s statement and Eddie recognized the reeling look that ghosted in her eyes, “You must be the monster that’s corrupting my baby. Shame on you.”

“Mom, no, no, _no_ ,” Eddie made sure to sharpen his tone, not caring to warn her as he clicked open the car door in an attempt to volley her out of the way, “Richie’s my _friend_. You can’t talk to him like that.”

And then Sonia began to sob.

“This is _unacceptable_ , Eddie-Bear!” She wailed as Richie clambered out of the other side of the car, cigarette between his teeth and Eddie’s duffel slung over his shoulder, “This is why I didn’t want you to go to college, people like _this!_ ”

“You’ve never even spoken to him,” Eddie forced out through gritted teeth, doing everything that he could to stop himself from exploding. The old Eddie would’ve crumbled 5 minutes ago.

“Don’t talk to me like that Eddie-Bear!” Eddie cringed as he could practically hear the tear-induced phlegm washing around her throat, “This time last year you wouldn’t have dared! And you wouldn’t have dared associate with these…these... _homosexual sinners!_ ”

“ _You can’t just assume that_ -“

“That’s a cracking fucking gaydar you’ve got there, Mr- _Oh, I’m sorry, couldn’t tell_ \- Mrs. K,” Richie’s voice was flooded with a bite that he usually saved for the likes of Bowers, “It’s true that I like cock and vag but I pinkie-promise that I washed my hands before I touched Eddie’s shit. Hand on the bible, the whole works.” He ended the statement with a bitter smile and a fire burning in his eyes, dropping the duffle at Sonia’s feet.

Eddie thought that he was in _love_.

_His mother couldn’t even open her mouth_.

“I’ll see you after the holidays, Eds,” Richie shoved his hands in his pockets as he waltzed casually past, leaning in close enough for Eddie to get a whiff of his sickly vanilla cologne under the rancid scent of smoke. He paused before adding under his breath, “I’m only a phone call away.”

Richie disappeared into the Mercedes and drove away without another word.

In a similar fashion, Eddie simply picked up his duffel from in front of his mother (who was still wailing on the concrete) and disappeared inside the house. He was going to be spending a lot of time alone this holiday season. A lot of time to think.

_Thank fuck- he needed it._

* * *

To say Eddie’s life had improved since being asked to tutor Richie Tozier- yeah, you could say that.

Considering he was currently cheering for some of his closest friends on the side of a hockey rink, arms waving frantically in the air as he felt the face paint on his cheeks crinkling as he screamed, things were going pretty good. Stan and Ben were placed either side of him, equally as adrenaline-fuelled and following in suit with the rabid chants of the crowd. Every so often, one of them would pause to glance at the others, smiling so wide that it hurt their gums before returning to their ranks.

Eddie felt a constant warmth blooming in his chest as the excess fabric on the jersey engulfing his frame wobbled about with every move he made. He’d gone as red as a tomato when Richie first pulled the thing out, slyly suggesting that in an ideal world he would have Eddie wear nothing but his _TRASHMOUTH 69_ jersey but that he’d have to settle for the time being. At the time, he’d refused, pushing Richie away with a breathless laugh and some kind of comment about ‘being nobody’s bitch’ and stuffing the thing between their couch cushions.

_“C’mon, you’ve got to finish this essay. You won’t have time over the weekend.”_

_“But my sweet darling Eds,” Richie sang, “My mind has been corrupted by the sight of your mother in daylight. Usually, when we fuck, we keep the lights off. It works fine for both of us: that way I can’t see her rolls and she can be pleasantly surprised by my monster co-“_

_“BEEP, BEEP RICHIE!”_

It wasn’t until the morning of the game that it had resurfaced again. Stan must have pulled it out during his Sunday cleaning and left it on the washing basket that sat conveniently outside Eddie’s room. He didn’t doubt for a second that Stan had ‘accidentally’ left the wretched thing there on purpose; his theory was quickly affirmed when he noted the bemused look on his friends face when he slipped his jacket over the top and hurriedly suggested that they needed to get going.

Richie’s eyes had lit up like Christmas lights the moment it dawned on him that Eddie was emblazoned with a name that could only be associated with himself, wasting no time before beginning to wax poetic about _his_ Sexy Eddie. Bullshit aside, Eddie felt proud as he danced around in the sea of fans. He felt proud as it dawned on him that _he_ was the only one that got to wear that name- he was the only one that _really_ got to.

Eddie had come to adore the chaotic energy that bubbled over the whole rink throughout the match, players and crowd included. In a time before Richie and the rest of the hockey team, watching sport was the kind of thing that Eddie would’ve scowled over, grumbling to himself about how it was a waste of money. He’d been utterly reformed. He loved it and it was intoxicating- not playing it, of course, that was still miles out of his comfort zone. For now, he was more than content screaming his vocal cords sore.

They entertained their usual shenanigans post-match, Coach ushering Eddie, Ben and Stan into the common room without batting an eyelid so the trio could rave about what they saw whilst anxiously waiting for the return of _their_ players. Eddie often found that he relished the scathing look Bowers would usually throw in their direction on the way out- the big oaf was far too terrified of his own father to try anything in his company. It was only once Stan coughed him out of his stupor that he realized his friend was trying to signal his attention, motioning subtly towards Ben, who was sat with sweat practically dribbling from his brow.

Eddie remembered. Today was the night of Ben’s first big date with Bev. _Oh shit, he forgot_.

“How you feeling, Benny?” Eddie tried to sound reassuring but instead, it just came out awkward and disjointed; he felt colour rise to his cheek as Stan massaged his temples whilst his eyes were screwed shut.

“I…” Ben’s mouth stuttered shut before he could really choke out any words, “I’m _fucking_ terrified.”

Well that sent him and Stan reeling.

“Holy fuck! Ben did you just, like actually, swear?” The phrase all came out in one gasp, Eddie not really controlling the Richie-esque word vomit that was falling from his mouth.

“You’ll be alright,” Stan soothed, rubbing a hand between Ben’s shoulders, “You and Bev have hung out…hundreds of times by now.”

“Yeah but that was with you guys!” Ben practically squealed, burying his face in his palms. To anyone else, such a sound would have seemed odd coming from such a large, burly figure but to his friends, it was _oh so Ben_.

“Hold on,” Stan stood up and brushed himself off before heading over to the pile of backpacks that had been slung on the floor on the way to the changing rooms. They were the teams' school bags, things that they didn’t really need anywhere near the ice. With an occupied hum, Stan fished out Richie’s self-chosen _Paw Patrol_ bag that he’d supposedly- by word of the team- found by a trashcan in ‘mint’ condition. Both of the zippers were hanging on by threads and the whole thing had endless amounts of penises drawn on along with x’s over the eyes of all of the characters, although Eddie couldn’t be sure that hadn’t been Richie himself.

“What are you getting Richie’s bag for?” Ben’s voice was labored as he tried to control his breathing, Eddie now having switched into Stan’s place of rubbing his back.

“This,” Stan had a small smile of his face as he plucked an item out of the front pocket of Richie’s bag.

_It was a miniature, shot-sized bottle of Jack Daniels._

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Eddie deadpanned; never before in his life had Stan been the one to suggest alcohol. None of them were particularly big drinkers- but Ben was probably the most alcoholically inclined of the trio.

“How did you know that was there?” Ben sniffed, examining the bottle that Stan had since handed to him.

“Richie brought it out in American Lit one day,” Stan snorted, “Claimed he bulk brought them from Cost-Co for ‘easy access at all times’.”

“Do you think he’ll mind?” Ben began twisting his hands around the top of the small bottle, his ministrations doing nothing due to the layer of sweat on his palms.

“No, he won’t,” A voice made all three of them jump out of their skin. None of them had heard him come in- a rare feat; Richie was leaning in the doorway to the changing rooms, an amused smirk on his face, “Go wild, handsome Ben.”

With Richie’s blessing, Ben knocked back the shot seconds after opening it, visibly cringing at the taste.

“Whiskey isn’t really my style,” Ben wheezed, “Thanks, Rich.”

“You’re welcome. _There is no end to what I would do to bone you_ \- Ah, I mean, get you boned,” Richie jolted when Eddie kicked him viciously in the shin in both good humour and, somewhere, _jealousy_. 

Not long after that, Beverly and the rest of the gang emerged from the changing rooms with their bags slung high on their shoulders. Bev looked almost as nervous as Ben, however, she had much more grace in handling it than him. It didn’t take them long to pile into their various vehicles, the entire team honking their horns and whistling as Ben and Bev pulled away in her car.  
Eddie found himself clambering into Richie’s truck- something that had become a habit as of recent. When he’d revealed to Richie that he was going home again for the weekend, he’d been shocked by his friend’s insistence to drive him, claiming that ‘given the circumstances’ he probably ought to head home for the weekend too. Eddie hadn’t asked. 

When he’d entered the monstrosity of a vehicle for the first time, he’d felt as though he was going to be sick with all the wrappers and bottles that were slung around, the crumbs in the seats and the overall stench of cigarette smoke that clung to the thing, however, it was one of those many things that he’d come to love about Richie, the chaos of it all. He’d almost felt a little bit heartbroken when it went in for repairs, Richie didn’t seem like himself without the beast.

There weren’t many words exchanged between them as they started on their journey, only meaningless chit-chat about the game and the team and how Eddie was dreading having to go home for his _Auntie’s Baby Shower_.

“Aww, I think it’s cute Eds,” Richie cooed, “Think of you, all bundled up with a baby in your arms. _God_ , it makes my ovaries hurt.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie had to huff out between giggles, “You’re so fucking dumb sometimes.”

“You love it.”

Things had been going smoothly until Eddie noticed that Richie had taken a different turn than their usual route and for a second Eddie begged the question of whether he’d been paying attention, considering he was focussed on rolling the window down so he could smoke. It was at the second wrong turn that Eddie finally decided to speak up, pinching Richie’s thigh in an attempt to gather his attention.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Eddie felt immediate dread when he was met with a look of sly satisfaction, Richie grinning like a madman around the cigarette that was gripped between his teeth.

“I thought we could go and pay Ben and Bev a visit,” He hummed with mock nonchalance, failing to hide the way he was almost buzzing with excitement.

“ _RICHIE!_ ” Eddie smacked Richie’s arm with as much force as he could muster, momentarily forgetting that they were in fact in a moving truck, “We can’t just bomb their date!”

“Relax,” Richie wheezed out, no longer trying to hide his glee, “I wasn’t saying we should climb in there with them, just that we could gaze from a distance.”

“Gaze from a distance-“ Eddie spluttered, “That’s, like, so fucking creepy! Where did they even go?”

“Drive-in movie,” Richie replied and for a second Eddie swore he saw a softness in his friend’s eyes.

Over the period of time that it took them to arrive at their destination, Richie explained that he had been the one to recommend the place to Bev because Maggie used to take him there as a child. Further, he explained that there was a particularly large hill behind said drive-in cinema and that it was where they had parked to see movies for free- Eddie found out that they didn’t have as much money when Richie was a little child.

He had to admit, when they’d pulled up on top of the hill Eddie had lost his breath for a second. The whole set up- well, it was beautiful. The sun had long since set in the sky and burning diamonds decorated the pitch black, illuminating the view for miles. What seemed to be below their feet was row upon row of cars, each a little pocket of light and sound; towards the back there was more casual folk, sitting in the back of their cars smoking and drinking. In the front, there were lines of people curled together with blankets and popcorn, some invested in the movie, most invested in whoever it was they were sat next to. The movie that was playing was some old black and white horror flick, Richie’s favorite. It could barely be heard so far back, the words uttering off the screen echoing in Eddie’s ears as nothing more than white noise but it provided a comfortable sense of nostalgia despite having never been there before. There was something magical about the whole ordeal.

“It’s nice,” Richie’s voice was quaint, almost wavering, “Isn’t it?”

“This place is gorgeous, Rich,” Eddie sigh, still trying to regain his breath slightly, “It’s a nice place for a date.”

“What?” Richie almost sounded panicked for a second and Eddie didn’t miss the way his eyes began to flit nervously back and forth.

“Ben and Bev,” Eddie pressed in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You know, two of our closest friends who are down there somewhere on their first date?”

“Oh, yeah,” That seemed to bleed the tension from Richie’s body and he removed his porcelain knuckles from around the steering wheel. “Uh, if you want to go and sit on the roof, we can, there are blankets on the backseat.”

Eddie didn’t really know how to respond to that. In all honesty, Eddie hadn’t wanted to sit on the roof of Richie’s truck with him but now _he was_ and it was all pretty damn overwhelming. Half an hour ago he’d been taking deep breaths in the passenger seat in a feeble attempt to calm himself down before going home to his mother and now he was here. He was in here in a place where he felt like time and reality were splitting apart and he was with Richie and Richie was climbing on the roof and spreading blankets out and Eddie was just frozen because he didn’t know what to do.

“Eds?” Richie’s voice was meek and it made Eddie’s heart sink for a second; he took the hand that Richie had extended out to him and clambering very un-sexily up onto the roof, ignoring the chants his mind provided about the germs and the height and Richie’s smoke and he felt peaceful.

“This isn’t how I thought I would be spending my evening,” Eddie chuckled nervously, reclining against some of the pillows Richie had also brought out. Watching the way Richie’s face contorted into one of panic, he added, “But I’m not mad about it.”

“Well, I just thought we’ve got an exam season coming up- we won’t be seeing each other as much- and-“ Richie began to ramble.

“Richie, relax,” Eddie snickered, laughing for real this time. There was something incredibly endearing about watching his friend, his _best friend_ , so wound up. Playfully, he reached up and slung his hands around Richie’s neck, dragging him down to lay back in the same way that he was, snorting as Richie violently threw his cigarette in the other direction to avoid dropping it on the blanket.

“Damn, Spaghetti,” Richie huffed, “It’s a good job I like to be manhandled.”

“Beep, beep, Richie,” It was only a murmur under his breath; he wasn’t even sure if Richie heard it and deep down, he hoped he didn’t. No matter how many times Eddie beep-beeped the many lying beside him he never wanted him to shut up, never wanted him to be silent. Richie was the only one who could talk as much Eddie’s own mind and that was something he’d never stop being thankful for. 

He watched fondly as Richie twiddled the loose threads on his shirt between his fingers, unable to really stop moving for even an instant.

“Sometimes I think it’s not fair. I think about it a lot,” Richie began, sucking in a deep breath, “I think it’s unfair that I know everything about you and you know nothing about me. And I know that it bothers you. You don’t say it, but I know it.”

“Richie, you don’t-“

“Hush, Eddiekins! God, did that beast of a mother not teach you anything!” Richie paused again, clearing his throat, “I know that it bothers you. Part of me wants to tell you, I really do. But _I can’t_ , Eddie.”

Eddie found himself recoiling at that and he could feel the crease between his brows beginning to deepen. Naturally, he went to open his mouth but was stopped in his own tracks by the feeling of Richie’s fingers dancing against his palm.

“I’m fucked up, Eddie. Way more fucked up than you think or know or than you think you could deal with. It’s nice, those scenes in movies when they confess everything they’ve ever done wrong and their lover cries and says ‘You could say anything and I’d still love you’ but _that’s not true, Eddie_. They say, ‘I’d never look at you differently’ and it’s a lie. You’re one of the only people- the only person who doesn’t look at me and see…see… _that! Fuck!_ ” Richie paused for a second, biting down hard on his knuckle and for a second Eddie swore he could see the reflection of the stars in Richie’s wettened eyes, “I don’t want you to look at me that way, Eddie. I couldn’t- I can’t- Anyone but you. Everyone but you.”

“Richie-“

“So, just, please. I know that it bothers you but- Eddie, I would be a different person if you knew. God-fucking-dammit, _I’m me. I’m me._ What you’re seeing is me, Eddie, you’ve seen more of me than anyone else but it’s just a different side of the coin. This isn’t fake, this isn’t a lie, it’s just a story with the ugly bits cut out. Like when parents read fucking Harry Potter to their kids and skip the whole part where Harry’s parents die because _honestly it’s fucking harrowing and traumatic_ -“

Eddie listened to Richie ramble. He listened to every word that tumbled out of Richie’s mouth, knowing that this was more about Richie convincing himself than it was about him convincing Eddie. Even if it was an attempt to convince Eddie, it was pointless. He’d already been converted. He’d been converted the moment Richie opened his mouth. 

“It’s okay, Richie,” Eddie grasped his hand, tugging it close, “I understand. I don’t need to know. I…I never need to know if it means we can keep… _this_ , this friendship, whatever this is.” He found himself closing his eyes, squeezing them shut to block to world out and just focus on this and only this-

Richie kissed him.

Richie kissed Eddie.

_Richie kissed him._

Seconds prior, Eddie had felt Richie’s hand snake up behind his head and pull him close. Richie’s lips were chapped and all he could taste was smoke. Everything was smoke, invading every single one of his senses and _he loved it_. It was such a tender kiss, so opposite everything Richie stood for. Richie was overwhelming and loud and obnoxious but this was- _nothing and everything_. 

Eddie’s mind felt black but his stomach was exploding, burning like the diamonds that decorated the sky above them and for those quick seconds, _Eddie felt perfect_.  
It ended as swiftly as it began. He registered the look of horror on Richie’s face as he realized what he had done, the way his friend clambered backward and almost fell of the roof of the truck, scrabbling with his hands just to hold on.

“Shit, Eddie,” Richie’s voice was as breathless as it had been when he finished a game of hockey, “Shit, I’m so fucking sorry-“

“Don’t apologize, Rich,” Eddie’s voice was sore and barely there, “We can think about this later. I need to think about this later but _I’m so sick of thinking_ so please, please just lie down. Just lie here Richie and we can think later.”

Richie didn’t audibly reply but his mouth formed an O shape and he gave some sort of roundabout nod and began to shuffle down the blanket until he was on his back as he had been before. Without hesitation, Eddie dragged Richie’s head closer, dragged Richie until his head was lying on Eddie’s chest and he was sure the man must be able to hear how his heart was thundering to make up for his brains lack-of thinking. He dragged the man closer until every scent was Richie, his shampoo and his cigarettes and his vanilla cologne. 

Eddie Kaspbrak fell asleep under the stars with Richie Tozier lying on his chest.

* * *

Eddie had been jumbled awake about 45 minutes before he actually woke up. He’d been jumbled awake by Richie and his clunky, thunking movements as, _he assumed_ , his friend climbed down off the roof of the truck and began to rifle through his dashboard. Somewhere he was sure he heard a phone ringing but he was far too relaxed, basking in the rising sun, to give even half a shit.

So, he fell asleep again.

* * *

The next time Eddie awoke it wasn’t because he’d been pushed or pulled in any direction, it was because the sun was beating down on him and he could feel it in his bones and he was slick with sweat because he was still wearing his jacket. 

It was an odd sensation to wake up outside. It was never something that he’d done before, growing up with a mother like his own. She wouldn’t even let him sleep on the couch in case he injured his neck. Eddie liked it though, he liked waking up to the morning breezing bleeding into his brain and the view of the drive-in, mostly empty, to soothe his mind.

Then, Eddie remembered everything that had happened.

And he felt like he got _punched_.

Because oh my god, Richie had kissed him. He and Richie had kissed. Eddie had kissed Richie. All of a sudden, Eddie was back to thinking again and his mind sure had a lot to say considering it had been out of action for the last 12 hours- Eddie could feel the thoughts flowing with all the grace of a tsunami. The dam had been broken and Eddie was drowning in every miniscule thing that had passed his mind about _Richie_.

Richie.

_Where was Richie?_

It took him a few seconds to get his body responding again, to shake out his arms and legs and scale down the side of Richie’s ridiculous truck. The man couldn’t have gone far and with a quick scan around Eddie’s logic proved true, Richie had situated himself on the other side of the hill. The side over looked the country that they had passed on the way- for a second, Eddie considered how lucky they were to go to a college that was so far out from the rest of the world, how with just an hour or so’s drive they could witness the beauty of rolling hills and countryside.

It took Eddie a glance to realize that Richie was on the phone: he wasn’t saying anything but it was pressed between his head and his shoulder and even from 20 meters off Eddie could hear the chatter on the other end of the phone.

“Okay, bye,” Richie’s voice was almost non-existent, “No, I know, a few hours I’ll be home. I’ll come pick you up.”

And then the smell hit Eddie. It was a smell that Eddie had only smelt once before.

_Weed._

Richie was sat, _his Richie was sat_ , facing the sunrise with a joint in his hand. All of a sudden, Eddie didn’t know how he hadn’t smelt it before because now it was everywhere and for the first time in years, he felt like the feeling rising in his chest _might actually_ be asthma.

Eddie knew it was an overreaction. He knew it. Most of the people Eddie knew smoked a bit of pot now and then but this…this was _his Richie_. Sure, Richie smoked and logically, Eddie knew that in many ways’ cigarettes were worse than marijuana but _Richie didn’t do drugs._

_He wasn’t the type._

So, why? _Why, why, why, why, why_ was Richie sat on top of a hill at the crack of dawn smoking a joint on a phone call? Eddie’s mind wasn’t just thinking it was _screaming_. It was screaming everything that Sonia had ever taught about drugs and the people that did them- it was one of the few things she’d taught him that _he still believed_.

“Richie?” Eddie loathed how meek his voice was, how he could barely bring himself to raise it above a whisper. Richie could still hear, though. It was silent.

“Eds?” Richie’s voice was one of alarm, the alarm a kid feels when they get caught by their parents for doing something they shouldn’t be. “Eddie, _oh fuck_. Oh shit. You were sound asleep last time I checked.” 

“Yeah,” There was a bitterness to his tone, “Was. Richie, why are you sat on top of a hill smoking pot?”

“I…” Richie’s trailed off and Eddie was horrified at what he saw next. He realized that for the first time ever, he’d seen Richie roll his sleeves up. Richie only ever wore long sleeves and Eddie didn’t question it because that was _just Richie_. They weren’t even rolled all the way up, Eddie could barely see a third of his forearm but he could see enough.

Burns. Cigarette burns. _Joint_ burns. All over.

Eddie knew what they were because his father had one on his left thumb before he died. One.

_And he watched as Richie put out the joint he was holding on his forearm._

“No, Richie,” Eddie practically screamed, “ _Richie, what the fuck?_ ”

He tried to dive forward. He tried to snatch away even though he knew he was already too late. The spot was red and raw and practically bubbling not far below his wrist and oh god Eddie was going to throw up.

“Eddie,” he began, throwing the rest of the joint aside, coming to kneel before him, “Oh my god, Eddie. _Eddie_. Breathe. You’re hyperventilating. Please, oh god, Eddie just _breathe_. In and out. C’mon, with me.”

“R-Rich, what?” Eddie stuttered through breaths, “What the fuck was that? What the fuck was all that?”

“My parents are getting divorced.”

_That hit him like a tonne of bricks._

“It was just weed, Eds, nothing else,” Eddie didn’t want to know what Richie meant by that, “It was just weed. I promise. Weed isn’t bad. Everyone smokes weed.”

Richie was using the same tone he had been the night before; the one where he was trying to justify it to himself just as much as Eddie.

“ _I don’t_ ,” Eddie choked out, tears fighting their way out.

“I know you don’t, Eddie,” Richie pleaded, wrapping his friend in his arms, “I know you don’t because you’re perfect, Eddie.”

* * *

They stayed stood like that for a long time. He wasn’t sure how long, but it was until Eddie started breathing normally again. Until the smell of weed disappeared and it was only a faint must that clung to Richie’s leather jacket.

“I suppose you’re going to ask me not to tell the team,” Eddie tried to joke. It failed the moment he saw the pleading look in Richie’s eyes. “ _What the fuck, Richie, no._ ”

Richie pulled away fairly suddenly after that, regaining some of that icy pressure that Eddie was trying so hard to warm out of his friend. He could practically see the tension reverberating out of Richie’s form; his face was trying to be calm but his body was angry.

“Eds, _please_.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Eddie’s tone was harsh and snappy and he hated it, “Richie, I can’t not tell the team that you’re doing _drugs!_ ”

“You can Eddie. Eddie you can.”

“No, I can’t. I fucking won’t!” Eddie could hear his voice rising. Richie’s raised in return.

“YOU CAN AND YOU FUCKING WILL!” Richie practically screamed and Eddie was _terrified_. He was terrified because, for a second, Eddie Kaspbrak got a glimpse of just a sentence of the ugly part of the story. “Eddie, I’m sorry. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” He was crying now. Richie was sobbing.

“Richie-“

“ _Please._ ”

He sounded so broken. Eddie couldn’t say that he’d ever heard anything like it before in his life. There was that could almost be a likened to his mother in the desperate tone, the same kind of glutaral whine that slipped between the teeth of a wounded animal.

And so Eddie nodded.

“Just take me home. Now. Please. I just want to pretend this never happened.”

“That’s good,” Richie’s breath was long and slow, “That’s- yeah- that’s good. Come on, Eddie, let’s get you back to that monster of yours.”

* * *

Eddie was silent the whole time and didn’t say goodbye when he got out of the car. On his way up the drive, he wondered to himself whether he was entering the den of a monster or leaving one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, posting this technically violates the rules that I laid out for myself when writing this but- rules are made to be broken amirite?
> 
> truth is i posted this cause i've been feeling kind of shitty about this fic as of the moment- idk, i like it i just don't know if it's very good.
> 
> as i said on my Tumblr (it's @literary-shitstorm, i mostly answer questions and post things on there) that i got more work sent through, gotta love education, so that's taken my focus away from writing this a little. I'll still try my darndest but it might be a little longer between updates.
> 
> as always, thanks for taking the time to read!


	6. Playing in the Dark

Things had been different since the night at the drive-in. There was an unyielding tension that lay heavy over the few conversations Eddie had with his friend; more and more often he found himself slinking away from Richie’s company, hiding away or spending his time with the other members of their little group.

Richie himself had become tense and closed-off, not just to Eddie but to everybody. In every social situation, the shaggy-haired comic who was usually dancing about in a whirlwind of energy was more often than not tucked away in the corner swinging a beer bottle between his fingertips and staring into the distance unless someone shook him from his stupor. Richie seemed to vibrate almost constantly; it’d be a lie to say Richie had ever been anything but a ball of hyperactivity, but it had grown to a whole new level of sheer twitchiness. To the outside eye, it closely bordered paranoia, what with the way that Richie’s pupils seemed to constantly dart back and forth- that and the random spasms when he would seem to break from whatever trance had been withholding his mind.

Sometimes when Eddie found himself accidentally glancing in Richie’s direction, he would be met with a stare like no other he had ever experienced before. Dark, swirling eyes would be burning into his body, vacant yet filled with an inherent darkness that made acid pool in the back of Eddie’s throat; it was a stare so full of intent yet so unintentional. Richie had the eyes of a man who was clinging to sanity, desperate to tie himself to reality in any way that he could manage.

Then, without saying a word, Richie would take a swig from his beer and carry on twirling his fingers into his hair and glancing out of the open window to the street below.

Eddie had known within minutes of meeting Beverly Marsh that she was the wrangler of the group, the mother hen who looked after all of her boys and made sure they stayed happy and healthy with a beaming smile on her face, red hair framing her features like some kind of fiery halo. Pretty quickly, that courtesy had extended to himself, Stan and Ben (in particular); Eddie wasn’t sure he’d come to trust anyone as fast as he had with Bev. She was an honest to god angel. 

Even she was cracking at the way Richie was acting.

Eddie could see it from across the room, the way she would constantly look back over her shoulder with a plush lip worried between her teeth, offering a small meager smile if she was ever caught in the act. From his usual perch on the couch, he could see the way that she would inhale sharply when she saw him twitch or flinch- he could see the clenching of her fists- the desperation to go and curl up next to him and force the words out of her friend's throat.

If Bev was worried about Richie, they all should be.

But every evening would always remain the same, they would all take turns (bar Eddie) to go and keep Richie company in his secluded corner away from the light and sound of whatever movie or music they had playing, to jostle his shoulder and to bring those quaint quirks of his lip to the surface, nothing like his trademark goofy grin. Some did so more than others: Bill, Bev and surprisingly, Stan frequented the den the most, always coming with the peace offering of a new beer in hand and the unspoken promise not to mention the way he seemed to be tearing apart at the seams.

As weeks passed and they got further and further into the exam season, Eddie noticed the way that the bags that had always been somewhat prominent beneath Richie’s eyes were emblazoned with a painful rainbow of colors- purples, blues, greens, blacks. Every time he saw his friend, if he could still call him that, Richie seemed to have added another ring to the shadow that seemed to stretch its way across his nose and all the way down to his cheekbones, cheekbones that had become gaunt and hollow. His skin that was already sickly white had gained a yellowish hue around his lips and chin, ever highlighted when he would turn his head towards a window.

Eddie didn’t need to be a medical student to know that Richie was wasting away.

The thought made guilt toil in the pit of his stomach: he knew that he should tell the team that Richie had been smoking pot. One of the first conversations he’d ever entertained with Bill was about the rules of the team and what they had to do in order to stay on. Eddie had been intrigued, it was rare to meet someone with the blazing work ethic that Bill normally brushed off with a quirk of his lips and the wave of a hand. Most of it was fairly straightforward, they were college students and thus they were expected to party- but drugs, they were a strict and certain no. Of course, Eddie didn’t want to tell Bill or anyone so that they could get Richie kicked off the team, he knew that Bill wouldn’t do that anyway, but they had a right to know.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to. There had been plenty of opportunities for it; in the car with Bev and Ben, waiting in the reception with Bill and Mike for Richie to finally get out of the shower and get changed. Eddie could safely say that if he had a dollar for every time the words _‘Richie’s doing drugs_ ’ had nearly passed his lips he would be well on his way to a small fortune- they always died in his throat. The words got stuck, similar to the way that they did when he was having an asthma- _panic_ \- attack, in an instant his throat would be coated with spiderwebs and as much as he would try to move his tongue around the phrase it would only continue to get more and more trapped in the threads.

Logically, he knew that telling them about Richie was the healthiest option. It was healthiest for both of them because it meant that Eddie didn’t have to spend every waking moment in the same room as Richie gnawing his fingers off with guilt and that Richie could hopefully get whatever help he needed not to look like a walking zombie. There was something that felt wrong about it, whenever he would think about the whole fiasco the floodgates would open, reminding him of Richie and all the things he had said to him that night: how _lonely_ and _desperate_ he had sounded. Eddie was no genius, but he was smart enough to read between the lines and know that the words that had spilled from Richie’s mouth were a plea for acceptance, if nothing else.  
Eddie himself had given the same plea the first time Stan had calmed him down.

And then there was the _kiss_.

Eddie still wasn’t ready to unpack the depths of his mind that held on to whatever seemingly repressed homosexual trauma that lived there but he had come far enough in his psychological ‘recovery’ to be able to accept that he _wanted_ that kiss with Richie. He _liked_ kissing Richie, even if it was an event that spanned less than seconds. In an ideal world, Eddie would kiss Richie at any given opportunity. If that made him gay; well, he might not be able to say it out loud just yet and definitely not to anyone else, but it was something to consider.

Part of him reveled in the sheer fact that he had even kissed another man, gay or not (definitely gay), it was like the biggest _fuck you_ to Sonia Kaspbrak he could possibly have managed. He found himself honestly surprised that he didn’t feel more traumatized by the whole concept- that he hadn’t run to the store to find antiseptics and his inhaler as soon as Richie’s fingers had braced the back of his head. It felt good to step over the line that he had feared for such a long time; Eddie was no idiot, he’d known for a long time that there was a reason that he’d never had a girlfriend and even more so that he’d never _wanted_ one.

Eddie was okay, though.

Maybe it was the sheer amount of time he’d spent around his friends, all of whom were so open and unapologetic about who they were. Maybe it was the time he spent away from his mother. He was okay.

_Maybe it was Richie._

Eddie would never say the words to his face but even in spite of the way he was avoiding the curly-haired troublemaker like the plague, there was something unsettlingly inspiring about the way that Richie was so unashamedly himself. The way that Richie would scream about liking boys and girls to the world until the world begged him to stop with _beep beep_ ’s and giggles (his world anyway, that was all that mattered). Eddie’s heart still began to race when he remembered the way that Richie had boldly stood up to his mother regardless of the horrible things she’d said to him then- and since then to Eddie.

That was why Eddie couldn’t let him carry on wallowing in a state of what appeared to be utter depression, flaking from day to day with tired eyes and a wilting soul, lacking in everything that made him _Richie_.

So, he found himself waiting until they were alone.

The team’s practices had dwindled down ever so slightly due to the start of the exam season, the focus instead being on conditioning and keeping in shape as opposed to actual team element of the sport. Most days they were given exercises that they could do from the comfort of their own rooms, making it increasingly harder for Eddie to find an opportunity to reach Richie alone. A well-known fact about Richie Tozier: he doesn’t leave his room unless he has to.

Every week on Friday night, however, the team would meet and split in two to play a friendly game against each other- with spectators _allowed_. He, Stan, and Ben would all pile into Stan’s car and make their way over to the rink the moment that their lessons finished, not even bothering to change their clothes or get any kind of food; they’d long since been taking snacks out of the team’s fridge. They’d happily wave hello to the receptionist on their way past, who now knew them by name, and wait out the rest of the game beside the rink, cheering on both sides as best they could (usually, the ‘groups’ within the team were split up, much to the players’ chagrin).

It took Eddie three weeks to actually get the opportunity to talk to Richie. As it turns out, they’d both been putting roughly the same amount of effort into avoiding each other. The first week that Eddie showed up at the rink, Richie disappeared without even taking a shower, slinking out of the backdoor, and into his truck before anyone had any idea where he was going. The second week, he’d asked Bev if it was okay if she waited for Richie and she’d told him with a sad smile that their friend was exhausted and that it probably wasn’t the best idea.

The third week, Eddie waited until Richie had gotten out of the shower. Everyone else had dwindled off: Ben and Bev going out on another date, Mike was going with Bill and Stan to watch a movie at Mike’s apartment. Bev had pulled him aside before had, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

 _“I know you mean well, Eddie,”_ She’d planted a kiss on his forehead with a grin, _“But be gentle with Richie, okay? He’s having a tough time at the minute so- just cut him some slack.”_

The person in question had positively jumped out of his skin when he saw that Eddie was still sat there, toying his phone with his thumbs as the faulty light flickered dauntingly above his head. It had long since gotten dark outside and Eddie flushed red when he realized that Richie had only just pulled his sweater over his head, his eyes catching the way that it rode up his friends’ torso ever so slightly.

“I needed someone to drive me home for the weekend?” It was a shitty excuse and Eddie knew it, desperately trying to fight the further blush that threatened his cheeks, “I was hoping that you would-“

“Of course, Eds,” Richie’s voice was quiet and hoarse, but it flooded Eddie with such a relief that he thought he might fall over. It had been over a month since Eddie had heard his name in that gravelly tone, and in seconds he realized just how wrong it had felt to not have Richie beside him.

“I’ve told you that that’s not my name, right?”

Things had been relatively silent as they both clambered into the truck, Richie swinging his kit bag recklessly into the back, only to giggle at the disapproving look that Eddie made sure to throw in his direction.

“You never stop being an old man, Spaghetti. Does it get tiring to be about as fun as a geriatric boner?” Richie’s quip lacked the usual fiery heat that most of his wisecracks did, but nonetheless it was soothing to see him regain some of his usual disposition.

“Your list of kinks is ever-expanding, Tozier,” Eddie couldn’t fight the grin, “I didn’t peg you for a daddy type.”

“My darling Spaghet-ward,” Richie mused, “The only person I want to peg me is you.”

“Jesus fucking- _that’s so wrong in so many different ways_!”

The silence continued after that, lacking the weighted pressure it had prior to their little exchange but still, Eddie felt like the air that he breathed out of his lungs was going to set on fire every time it mingled with the heat of Richie’s truck. There was a casual intensity to their dynamic, the sheer fact that the conversation that neither of them wanted to have was lingering over them, taunting them in painful silence.

It was easy to relax into the molded leather; realistically, Eddie knew that the seat was just worn away from what was probably years of use, but it pleased him to think that maybe, just maybe it was him. That in the now countless times Richie had accompanied him to and from places, sometimes driving to absolutely nowhere, that Eddie had left his mark on Richie’s world- even if it just was bending the tattered leather in his car.

Eddie felt himself lulling off as the streetlights blurred past them, the different colors of signs merging together into one obnoxious mess that danced before his eyes and set his mind adrift, the colors mixing with the blue-black of the sky.

“You know,” Richie’s voice was husky and wrapped around a cigarette, “We have to talk about it. Don’t act like that’s not why you’re here.”  
Eddie bowed his head in shame at that; he didn’t want Richie to think so lowly of him despite the fact that he was _right_.

“I’m still angry at you,” Eddie practically felt the frown burning wrinkles into his forehead, forcing himself to soften his glance, “But I’m sorry for how things have been the past few weeks.”

“Oooh, the midget still holds rage? Who knew?” Richie chuckled lowly, his breath mingling with the smoke and the cold air the bled through the open window as they battled forward against the wind. Eddie couldn’t help but think he looked beautiful.

“Don’t be an asshole, Rich,” Eddie smacked his arm cautiously, all too aware of the way that Richie’s hands were gripped around the steering wheel. He nearly missed the wince that came as a result of the action.

“I’m sorry too, Eddiekins,” Richie mocked, making as many obscene kissing noises as he possibly could and leaning over into every inch of Eddie’s personal space.

“Jesus fucking Christ, dick,” Eddie wheezed, “Ever heard of a personal _fucking_ bubble?”

“Want me to pop your bubble, Eds?” Richie mused, laughter now pouring out of his nose in soft huffs.

“How are your parents?” Eddie made sure to quiet his tone, making it clear that this was the point their conversation was going to take a more serious tone. Richie responded by looking out the window wistfully.

“It’s the right thing to do,” There was a certainty to Richie’s statement, a finality that made Eddie wholly agree that what he was saying was the only and obvious answer- but there was a mournful look that glazed his pupils, “They haven’t been…right, for a while. Opposites attract might work when you’re young and in love but trying to run an already fucked-up family when you can’t agree on anything? Now, that’s just stressful.”

“How long have you known?” Eddie knew his voice was meek but there wasn’t much he could do to prevent it; divorce and _those kinds_ of parental issues weren’t really something Eddie had ever dealt with before, his closest (and, prior to the hockey team, only friends) had never had any of those issues, Ben’s father had passed away just like his own and Mr. and Mrs. Uris were still happily married. It pained him that there wasn’t more he could do to stop it.

“Only officially since that morning on the hill- that was Steph on the phone,” Richie hissed out between teeth, his knuckles whitening, “My dad had pulled some shit in the middle of the night, had a go at Nat, _the fucking asshole_.He and mom stayed up all night arguing and by the time the sun came up they decided. Nobody was surprised but it’s different to hear it than to just know it.”

“Are Maggie and Nat okay?” Eddie pressed quickly, lurching forward with what was probably some kind of panic, “Where are they?”

“They’re staying at home for now, Steph’s living with them until shit’s sorted,” Richie sighed, releasing some of the pressure that had seemingly been sat on his chest, “My dad moved into Johnny’s fucking ‘at home’ apartment for the time being- the house is his so my mom’s finding somewhere to live, using the money from her days as an artist.”

“Your mom used to be an artist?” Eddie asked in semi-awe before freezing, “Better question, who the fuck is Johnny?”

“My brother,” Richie’s reply was curt and full of malice.

“You have a brother?”

“Yes, he’s a pompous douche bag just like my father only slightly less psychopathic,” Richie spat, “He likes to parade around like he’s an angel with all his humanitarian shit but he’s still just a prejudiced, judgemental prick. _Do you hate me_?”

Eddie felt like he got hit with a fucking anvil because _what the fuck_. The abrupt change in conversation left him feeling like he had fucking whiplash; due to their chatter before Eddie had been able to tune out of Richie’s general restlessness but everything seemed to flood his system all at once. The way that Richie was constantly shuffling in the driver’s seat, the way that his feet were tapping against the peddles, the way his eyes bounced around his skull with the ferocity of a marble hurtled into a wooden floor.

“Are you on something, what the fuck, Rich?”

“On something, no. I, uh, haven’t been…” He trailed off, “Don’t be mad ‘cause I haven’t- I…I stopped taking my ADHD meds like uh…for a week or two. It just hits really bad sometimes, don’t worry. I’ll calm down again in a minute- probably.”

“You can’t just not take fucking meds if you need them, you fucking idiot!” Eddie practically screeched- for once, he felt educated. He’s a fucking medical student for fuck's sake, _how are you going to be a doctor if you can’t even keep your friends healthy?_

“It’s exam season and- they can make it easier to focus but they can also make it harder. Like, I figured that if I stopped taking my meds then I could try and force myself to fixate on my work for my exams and get shit done- and I mean, _get shit done_.” Richie huffed and ran a sweaty palm through his tangled curls, “It’s…I know it’s dumb, but I’ve had a lot on my plate and I’m desperate.”

“That’s so fucking unhealthy,” Eddie said, trying to keep the years of medication-related abuse from letting disgust seep into his tone, “What, was the weed not enough?”

Every movement Richie was making prior seemed to snap still at that moment, the only movement coming from his friend was the wiggle of the cigarette hanging between his teeth slackening at the sheer audacity of the comment.

“That’s a fucking low blow and you know it, Eddie,” Richie’s voice was low and uneven, and it set a collection of shivers pulsing down Eddie’s spine. It churned his stomach to hear Richie use his real name and for a second Eddie prayed that it never happened again.

“What did you think we- we just weren’t going to talk about it?” Eddie sighed, pinching his nose and leaning forward to press his head against the dash, “I’m…I’m sorry for being a bitch, I didn’t want it to come out that way.”

Something in Richie seemed to soften at that and his grip on the wheel loosened- his toes, however, continued to patter against the pedals.

“I know that shit like that…gets to you, Eds,” Richie flashed a look of complete and utter sincerity in his eyes; it made Eddie uncomfortable, “I’m not scared of the team knowing or anything…its just something I’d rather keep under wraps, you know, ban on drugs and that shit. It is literally _just_ weed; I promise. Just something to take the edge off.”

“If that’s what you say,” Eddie paused hesitantly before placing his hand over Richie’s on the gear stick, sending an electric shiver through his friends’ body, “I trust you, Tozier.”

“Whew,” Richie smirked as he tossed the ashy remnants of his cigarette out the window, “I’m glad we got that out the way cause I was really worried that if you were mad you wouldn’t want to know how good it felt to be balls deep in your Jurassic mother-“

“BEEP FUCKING BEEP, ASSHOLE!” Eddie practically screamed, clamping his hands over his ears, “I- _and remember this_ \- never want to hear about that.”

They continued that way for the rest of the ride home, bickering in their usual fashion. Eddie felt like a weight had removed itself from his shoulders and he was flying far above everything else. The roads, the lights, the wind all faded into nothing as he settled into his space next to Richie (for real this time), sure that there was no place he fit better than beside the curly-haired comic. 

Sure, he was infuriating with his wacky voices and his tattered jacket, shirts that usually said something along the lines of _Women Want Me: Fish Fear Me_ or _I Piss in Pools_ , the way that the stench of cigarettes clung to him no matter how much vanilla spray he tried to mask it with. Eddie would roll his eyes at the way that when Richie was trying not to smile, his lips would crack open and, if you were lucky, you could catch a glimpse of his crooked teeth that had no right being as adorable as they in fact were.  
But Eddie liked spending time with him, nonetheless.

So much so, that when Richie pulled over the curb a block away from Eddie’s drive (he wasn’t allowed on the property, all thanks to Sonia) Eddie leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek just so he could watch those teeth appear from behind their veil of chapped pink.

“I hope you’re okay, Richie,” Eddie whispered before he got out; it was needless, the streets were void of any breathing presence other than their own- the rest of the world was tucked away in bed. _Good_ , Eddie thought, _they shouldn’t be here for a moment like this_.

“With you around, Eddiekins, how couldn’t I be?”

* * *

Richie upheld his statement somewhat; he had debatably perked up somewhat since their conversation in the car. He’d quickly begun to reinstate himself as the clown of the group, back to cracking jokes at the mercy of everyone else.

Nobody mentioned the shift in Richie’s behavior directly to Eddie, but he could see it in the glances they sent in his direction that seemed to pool with warmth. They were thankful that he had returned the Richie they knew and loved back into their lives, even if it felt wrong to admit they’d let him get to that point.

Eddie had been fast to act on the medication front, shamelessly informing the group as to Richie’s lax attitude with his pills as of late: ignoring the bitchy mood it put his taller companion in for the rest of the week. Deep down, he was sure that Richie could see that it was for the better in the long run, he could deal with sour looks and scathing comments for a few days if it meant that Richie would be able to make it through daily life with a little more ease.

Eddie had been informed that Mike was the one to wake Richie from his slumber each morning with a string of whistles, a mug of black coffee and the rattling of an all too familiar orange bottle.  
The admission of Richie’s diagnosis was one that came as a minor shock to Eddie upon delivery, however, seemed to make perfect sense the longer the thought dwelled in his mind. Eddie, studying medicine, had been set a whole unit covering behavioral disorders in children and adults. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself, although, his medically inclined brain and the gutter brain he used around Richie were worlds apart from one and other.

Richie and ADHD seemed like a natural pairing: the reckless impulsivity, the difficulty paying attention, the mood swings, the flood of words that seemed to be a constant pouring from his mouth. Eddie had wanted to cry the moment that Richie had awkwardly brought the subject up a few days after their journey, a pink blush burning over his cheeks; he’d messily informed Eddie that if was embarrassed to hang out with Richie or anything like that because _now he knew_ , he would be okay with it. It broke his heart because those were some of the things Eddie loved about his companion and within an instant of the words leaving Richie’s mouth he was sure to remind him:

_“You’re not defined by your ADHD, Richie. It’s a part of you as much as your hair, or your glasses, or your odd taste in old man t-shirts.”_

_“Aww, shucks, you used the medicine voice on me. What’s next, Doctor Kaspbrak, a prostate exam?”_

With his and Richie’s relationship on the up, things had been going relatively smoothly- Eddie was used to only accepting the best, spending his life pushing for both excellency and security (thanks, Sonia) was something that had left him with an almost insatiable need for every movement he made to be calculated and have meaning. For the first time, he felt like he was okay to lean back and relax into life with a little less ferocity and a little more appreciation for the things around him. 

Of course, he still tried with his classes, he’d paid a fuck-tonne to get into school and he wasn’t about to waste the money that his dad had left him, but it was nice to have other things in life that consumed his attention. Eddie had always scoffed at the idea of being a ‘well-rounded’ or ‘well-adjusted human’ being, until he had made a real circle of (non-introvert exclusively) friends, when he could achieve so much living the way that he was it seemed idiotic to try anything else. Honestly, he was shocked by how much of a difference making that change had been. So many doors had made themselves known now that he had opened his mind to other things- things that he had no idea he could ever possibly enjoy. It felt like for the first time ever he was living for himself instead of the ever-moving goals that he set himself.

What surprised him even more was that it didn’t only improve his social life; his education improved too. He found he often experienced surges of motivation that he’d been lacking in his work, a willingness to knuckle down and advance himself, even if it was just to receive the proud compliments of his friends. Time with friends make work come easier because he didn’t just feel like every aspect of his life was work- he was passing with flying colors and had still secured his spot as one of the top students on his course. 

He still tutored Richie (maybe less so than he was meant to do but neither of them was going to admit to that). The truth was that Richie didn’t need help with the content itself- he was genius, Eddie could now admit with no feelings of animosity or shame- he just needed some gentle reminders on how to stay focusses and someone who allowed him to express his knowledge in a way that isn’t just another goddamn essay.

Of course, not everything in his life could be going smoothly.

Sonia Kaspbrak had come barreling back into his life at breakneck speed, trying to exercise the same amount of control over Eddie as she once had when he was a child. It was as though the very presence of Richie in his life was too much his wild mother who thrived on discriminating against others; Eddie hadn’t experienced the meltdowns that she seemed to be having on a nearly daily basis since he had moved out nearly 2 years prior. At least now he got to have them over the phone instead of having to deal with the whirlwind in person.

Every weekend, she would come up with more and more elaborate reasons to try and force him home: his aunts, his granddad, she needed help with something- it was all just a ruse to draw him away from the supposed ‘reality’ of college life that had recently slapped her across the face. There was a guilt that toiled in his stomach regarding the whole thing; he hated being there, but she was his _mother_ , it felt like the least he could do is appease her by going to visit on the weekends. Eddie knew loads of people who went home for weekends- and he quickly realized that it weaned her calls during the week itself down to nearly none.

And so, Eddie put on a brave face and went to her house each Saturday morning, stayed the night and returned home as soon as he could on Sunday.

* * *

“For God’s sake, mom,” Eddie tore between gritted teeth, “I was in the fucking shower. You can’t just _turn the water off_.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Eddie-Bear,” Sonia chided as she tottered around her kitchen, seemingly unphased by her son, stood in the middle of the room dripping wet with a towel pulled tight around his waist. The woman could be surprisingly docile when she wanted to be, the weekend visits evening out her temper somewhat. “I told you, I _just_ saw it on the channel I always watch- some companies put chemicals in the water-“

“Yes, mother, they do,” He found it easier to not hide the malice in his voice, “They do it so we don’t all get cholera or something like that.”

“There’s boiled-bottled water in the fridge, honey.”

“ _Boiled bottled water_? What the fuck am I supposed to do with _bottled water_?”

“You know, I hate this new language of yours, Eddie-Bear,” _Oh god, here we go_. Eddie could see the tears welling in her eyes, “It’s those dreadful college friends, isn’t it?”

“I’m not having this conversation. Ah- _I am not having this conversation_.” 

There was a pride that surged through his chest as he turned his back and left the room, blocking out any of the blaring howls the woman was making in an attempt to drag him back down from the stairs he was climbing up two at a time. Eddie may have been coming back to his hometown in some sort of twisted sympathy for the person who’d spent their time raising him (as dysfunctional as she may have been), but that sure as shit didn’t mean he had to take any bullshit. The feeling of walking away from the chants that once haunted him was borderline euphoric.

The excuse this weekend had been that one of his cousins from out of town was finally making an appearance after a few solid years of absence: Eddie vaguely remembered them from a few birthday parties as a child, but he had about the same recollection of this elusive family member as he did of his father. Credit to them, though; if they’d had the sense to make it out of the death trap of the Kaspbraks’ then they deserved as much respect as he could muster.

With a huff, he fell forward onto the bed that he had spent so many nights curled into as a child. He hadn’t quite outgrown the oversized mattress despite long since ending any kind of puberty related growth, but he found himself relishing in the way that his toes brushed against the metal frame as he stretched over the expanse of pillows and blankets.  
It didn’t take long for him to cave and pull out his phone, his and Richie’s string of messages still the most recent conversation he had been having.

_I hate it here._

**i could never. not with ur sexy beast of a mom**

_Do you ever know when to shut your mouth, asshole?_

_I dare you to say that you typed that._

_I fucking dare you._

**why does mommy-sonny time suck so badly this partcular weekend?**

_She’s just being overbearing as usual. She turned the water off whilst I was in the shower because she heard that they put chemicals in it._

**so rude of her to cut off your time to throttle the rooster like that**

_You know not all of us are weird perverts like you Rich._

**everyones a critic**

As their string of conversations carried on veering into a pit of debauchery, Richie bringing out the very worst of his jokes (no doubt in a sweet attempt to cheer him up somehow), Eddie could feel the weights on his eyelids slowly pulling them shut, forcing his lashes to clump together and his head to mould blissfully into the pillow. He tried harder and harder to move his thumbs to the correct letters, but they all seemed to blur into one as the object in question finally slipped from his fingers and he allowed himself to drift off.

It wasn’t like he fell asleep whilst he was typing, he had the decency to shut off his phone first so Richie would know that he hadn’t _actually_ seen any of the messages that had been sent his way and wasn’t just ignoring him. 

Surprisingly, he drifted into one of the best sleeps he’d had in years; it was dreamless and free of worry, something he rarely experienced. There must be some weird irony in the fact that his entire childhood had been plagued by the nightmares this bed brought- hell, maybe it was his origin story. The tale of how he conquered his younger self by managing to sleep in a bed.

There was a reason he was doing medicine and not an arts degree, okay?

He wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been asleep for by the time he was rudely awoken, but his mind was clouded by the same fogginess and minor headache that usually followed a too-long nap and a too-short sleep. In the time it took him to actually peel his eyes open, there had been a further symphony of rocks clattering against his window and for a second the fear struck him that the years-old pane would shatter into his room.

Eddie mustered a speed he previously wasn’t sure he’d been capable of, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and racing over to the window. He let out a yowling sound as he had to force his fingernails under the old wood and peel the thing open.

“What the _fuck_?” He blurted out in one of those whispers that is actually just a fairly raspy shout- nice one. “Wait- Richie?!”

“Hiya hot stuff,” The man himself was leaning against his truck that had messily been pulled over the curb at some kind of odd angle. Richie had pulled his curls back into some sort of low ponytail, a few loose strands falling around his face and sticking to his, no doubt chapped, lips. The choking feeling in his throat was hard to ignore; Richie looked _cute_. “Heard you were looking for a hot date on this fine evening?”

“Rich, what the fuck are you doing here? My mother will _literally_ murder you if she sees you!” Eddie hissed, leaning as far out of the window as he possibly could without just dropping out of it.

“Well then shimmy your ass down that drainpipe and we can go and talk somewhere else!” The words themselves fell out of Richie’s mouth in a nonchalant manner but even from some distance, Eddie could see the way his face was cracked into an elated grin.

“Are you fucking insane?” Eddie gulped, hesitating further back into his room, “Who do you think I am? James Bond?”

“C’mon, I’ll come stand at the bottom,” Richie started trotting over the wet soil, struggling in whatever heavy boots he had chosen to wear, “I’ll never let go, Jack.”

“You know, considering Jack died, _that’s not very fucking helpful_!” Eddie barked, however, the snap in his tone was evened out by the fact that he was carefully swinging each leg over the window ledge- you know, doing exactly as he was asked.

Bit by bit, he began to twist his way down the pipe.

“Damn, Eds, I think you have a career as a stripper in the making here!”

“Shut up, Richie!”

“I mean- my man got _CAKE_!”

“The whole fucking neighborhood can hear you!” Eddie paused to take a deep breath, straining at the way his palms were beginning to slick with sweat, “You know, just because you heard something on the internet doesn’t mean you should say it.”

“Lookin’ thicker than a snicker from down here, honey bunny,” Richie was purely giggling now. Eddie was sure that had couldn’t have caught him even if he needed to based on the fact he was viciously slapping his hand on his thigh and keeling over laughing.

By the time Eddie finally planted his feet on the ground (a good five minutes later), Richie was practically on his ass with a face as bright red as a tomato, wiping the tears from beneath his glasses.

“Ha, ha, laugh it up, asshole,” Eddie snapped, pulling him up by the collar and dragging him to the truck- all whilst desperately trying to avoid the somewhat sexual tension the action brought.

“Who knew you were such a sneaking out virgin?” Richie huffed out, “I’m proud to say I finally popped your cherry, Eddiekins.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” Came out as a natural reaction, Eddie barely missing a beat while he relied upon the muscle memory of his hand to curl around Richie’s jammed door handle and twist in the right way for it to open. He liked to imagine it was only him and Richie who knew the technique. 

A few odd bits of banter exchanged between them as they made their way out of the small suburb Eddie had grown up in and out onto the main road; he didn’t feel the need to ask Richie where they were going, he trusted his friend and most of all, he was ecstatic just to be out of the house.

That was, until, his soul removed itself from his body.

Eddie wasn’t proud of the noise he made when Nat jumped out of the backseats of the truck, jolting forward with a punctuated scream that quickly mingled with his own- not the mention the pang of fear in his stomach at the way Richie’s laughter led the vehicle to veer off the road ever so slightly. His main question was _‘when the fuck did she get here?_ ’ but it took him a full three minutes before he could even begin to form words.

“Hey, Nat, why the f…udge are you back there, huh?” Eddie tried to make his voice as calm as possible, heaven knows if it had been Richie or anyone else he would have beat the shit out of them but he couldn’t exactly punch a 6-year-old.

“That’s all you have to say?!” Richie mused, clearly entertained by the whole situation, “My, my, Nat. I think that you scared the shit out of him! He’s terrified!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” The tyke began to chant, tossing her chubby little fists up in the air with all the power she could muster. Sure, it was kind of intimidating, but she looked _damn cute_ doing it.

“I would put actual money on the fact that this is what you were like as a child,” Eddie threw an elbow into Richie’s rib with no real force, snorting at the way that he squirmed in response.

“Oh, Spaghetti, you have no idea,” Richie paused, letting an almost maniacal grin spread across his face, “I was so much worse.”

“Shouldn’t she be in bed?” Eddie felt his inner need to control the situation beginning to creep into his tone, an almost nervy quiver at the end of his sentences- Richie just laughed it off.

“Mom’s been exhausted sorting a bunch of shit out, it's not ideal timing but I said I’d take her off her hands for a few hours so she could relax. It just so happened that two people needed my babysitting talents.”

In that moment, Eddie found himself struck with a wave of affection almost stronger than any that he had experienced before. Instantaneously, it was as though his heart had been flooded with nothing but admiration and adoration for the dork that was softly grinning, keeping his voice low in the hope that his sister wouldn’t pick up too much on the apparent stress their mother was suffering through. It struck him so hard with emotion that he faltered slightly, his own brain short-circuiting against him and left his mouth a gaping hole empty of any words to explain how he felt.  
“Eds? Eddie? Dude, you alright?” Richie sounded almost teasing, but there was a twinge of worry to his statement that Eddie had long since become accustomed to.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sorry,” He blurted out, already feeling the hot burn of his cheeks, “I was just…thinking. Anyway, where are we going?”

“There’s got to be a good ice rink around here somewhere, right?”

* * *

Breaking into a, quite frankly, dilapidated ice rink had never been high on Eddie’s _To Do List_ but oddly, he wasn’t even that phased by it. His life was so goddamn weird at this point- there wasn’t really much else to think about it. 

It was impossible not to wonder how much of a history Richie had with breaking and entering as he skilfully picked the locks to the back doors, all with his sister clinging to his back. Every so often, he would feed her bits and pieces of information as though the two of them were spies; he’d whip out a pretend radio to ‘contact’ Eddie, who in reality was stood just meters away checking to make sure there were no signs of anyone else about.

It was endearing to see how Richie interacted with her. There was something soft and delicate about it, like he was so honest with her yet so ready to protect her from the wrath of the world. Eddie was ashamed to admit that his mind reached its usual reprieve of speculating at exactly what it was that Richie had been through to make him so ready to, well, parent his little sister (despite Richie asking him not to think about it).

It only took a matter of minutes for them to securely find their way inside; when they had pulled up to the place, the sign had been hanging on by a few rusted bolts and screws and seemed to have a tendency to wave in the wind- it wasn’t exactly sporting state of the art security technology. Richie had wasted no time ushering them inside and wedging the door open with a brick before following them inside himself.

The whole place was just one big room with a few porta-potties shoved into one corner, worryingly close to a snack bar that looked like it hadn’t received a new shipment since the 90s. There was a counter near to the front entrance that was stocked with shelves of skates, no doubt for people to rent. Within seconds, the mere thought of putting shoes that somebody else had worn onto his feet made him gag a little bit, but he made sure to quickly shove the feeling down and do his best to prevent it resurfacing. 

The rink itself seemed to be in good enough condition. The rail that went around the side appeared to be short even by Eddie’s standards (it looked like it just about passed Richie’s hips) and he told himself that it had to be some kind of health code violation. 

“Ahhh,” Richie called out from somewhere, his words garbled by a flashlight Eddie had no idea where he had procured, “Found the magic spot.”

As if to punctuate the end of his sentence, the lights that illuminated the bottom of the rink lit up a delicate pale blue, cascading across the surface of dents and scrapes embedded into the ice. It cast a hue over the whole building, illuminating the walls like some kind of ethereal nightclub. 

“Beautiful,” The statement came out before Eddie could stop it, a gasp from under his breath that reverberated around the room.

“Aww, shucks, you ain’t too bad yourself,” Richie wooed, leaning on the railing as some sort of romantic gesture- an action in itself was ridiculous considering he had to practically bend himself in half to do so. “How about we get you and the lil’ lady all fitted up?”

“What about you?”

“I don’t skate with such low caliber gear,” Richie held up a drawstring bag that Eddie had seen countless times before, “Sometimes it’s like you don’t even know me, Eddiekins.”

Watching Richie attempt to clamber over the counter was an experience; one that left both him and Natalie wheezing and desperately trying to regain their breath.

“You’re so dumb, Richie,” The girl giggled bashfully, hiding her face in Eddie’s arm (she’d insisted upon holding his hand) whilst still trying to stop the heaves of her chest.

“You’re so smart for your age, Nat,” Eddie quipped, making sure to point his statement towards his friend, who was now holding up two pairs of rather battered-looking skates.

“You’re both bullies. I came here this evening to give you the experience of a lifetime and _this is the thanks I get?_ ”

Richie came rapidly leaping over the counter and picking Nat up with a strength that made Eddie swoon slightly, placing her on the flat surface and peeling off her Velcro Spiderman shoes and making sure that the skates were laced up as they should be. Watching was intoxicating; seeing the way that Nat tugged jokingly on the few curls that fell into Richie’s face and the way that he would pretend to stretch her legs out each time he went to pull on the laces, provoking a wild string of giggles from the girl. 

Eddie’s heart nearly stopped when he saw Richie place a tender kiss on her forehead with a soft ‘ _ready to go_ ’ and lifted her onto the floor.

“Need me to do up yours too, short stack?” The words snapped Eddie from his stupor, and he mumbled out a hushed declination while pulling the skates from Richie’s hands. “Well, make sure to lace them tighter than you think you need to.”

Turns out, lacing ice skates was somewhat more difficult than Richie had made it look, however, Eddie was far too proud to admit defeat and let Richie help him despite the many times his friend offered. It was another 10 minutes before he finally felt like he had them laced in a way that was both secure and comfortable and made his way over to the gate that led to the ice.

His hand paused for a second as he pressed his palm into the rail, his left foot loitering a few inches above the sheet of silver that he had watched so many times. The reality of the situation hit him in an instant because _holy shit, they had just broken into an ice rink and now Eddie was about to go ice skating which he had never done before because it was so dangerous and so many accidents could happen and-_

His thoughts halted when a familiar hand forced its way into his eye line, Richie stood only a foot or so away from him with a comforting smile that made every worry in Eddie’s heart melt ever so slightly. They would never disappear, he knew that well enough, but with just a few fingers stretched out before him, the worries had molded into something much more malleable. Something he could turn into excitement.

“Do you trust me, Eds?” Richie’s voice was quiet and low; they were the only ones inside the arena (bar Nat), but in that second he felt like they were the only people in the world.

“I trust you, Rich,” Eddie gulped, taking the hand that had been offered and allowing Richie to pull him forward onto the ice, “Holy shit. Oh my god.”

“Just hold onto my arms, okay? I’m not going to go fast. You’re just going to go forward,” The pull on his arms was ever so slight, Eddie wouldn’t have even known they were moving if not for the walls inching along out of the corner of his eyes. “You’re doing fucking awesome, dude. The first time I got on the ice I had fallen over by now.”

Eddie paused when he noticed that, ahead of them, Nat was skating around just fine on her own, twirling and jumping with such self-assured confidence that could only belong to a child. Immediately, he felt like an idiot- _Jesus Christ, he’s a 20-year-old man and he’s getting shown up by a 6-year-old girl._

“She’s been skating for at least two years longer than you have,” Richie chided and Eddie wondered whether he was really that obvious or that his curly-haired companion just had a second sense for things like that, “Things like this are harder as an adult, you see, when you’re a child you can attempt things without fear. You have less perception of failure so when you fall over and get hurt, you’re not as scared to get up and try again. As a child, you’re more adventurous, you’ll try things and make mistakes and get up wanting to change them, not slink away. When you’re an adult, however, your mind is much more developed, you understand the consequences of getting hurt and have enough logical sense to not do the thing that hurt you again. Only an idiot makes the same mistake twice, right?” Richie paused and closed his eyes, sending a stream of hot breath out his nose. Eddie got the feeling that this meant more than just ice skating. “But people make the mistakes over and over again because they can’t help it. They know it hurts but they need to do it. The pain of the fight makes the prize so much more worth it.”

“I never got to make mistakes as a child,” Eddie was surprised by the emotion in his own voice, the words were choked and laden thick with almost-tears. It was only in that moment that he realized throughout Richie’s speech he had been slowly moving faster, guiding Eddie around in all sorts of different directions at a fairly reasonable speed.

“I know you didn’t,” Richie smiled, reaching forward to cup his face in large hands, “That’s why we’re making them now.” 

Eddie squealed when, at the end of his sentence, Richie pushed him backward with no real force- but enough to knock him flat on his ass.

“ _What the fuck, Richie!?_ ”

“Mistake number one,” Richie mused with a snort, “Don’t fall over.”

The evening passed in a blur after that. Eddie found out that picking up the basics wasn’t anywhere near as hard as he had made it out to be in his own mind and after just an hour or so, he could skate fairly well on his own with the slightest assistance every now and then. Sometimes, it felt as though he could almost keep up with Nat (he told himself, logically, this was because his stride length was about twice as long as her entire body).

Eddie, more so than anything else, was enchanted by the mere sight of Richie skating; something he found to be much more exhilarating than skating himself. He was so used to seeing the raw power that went into Richie’s style, the speed and resilience that so often sent him gliding across the ice at a pace that Eddie was sure would break his spine if he ever attempted it- but to watch Richie skate for the fun of skating? That was a whole different beauty. Sure, he lacked the rapidity he did when he was playing hockey but there was a new grace to the whole thing that Eddie had not seen before. 

His jaw almost hit the floor when he watched the way his friend spun _god knows_ how fast on two feet, every single one of his features blurring into nothing but color as he moved. Before Eddie could even get the words out- granted, it was taking him a while to form them- Richie simply shrugged with a simple _‘my first skating coach was an ex-figure skater’_.

They carried on until Eddie could see the beginnings of red leaking through the back door they had left ever so slightly open, signaling that the place would probably be opening soon and that they should probably get the hell out before somebody came and they got into a ridiculous amount of trouble. Quicker than they came in, they packed up all of their things and left with no trace apart from the new scrapes they had left in the ice itself and hauled themselves into Richie’s truck and back onto the road.

Within minutes of their departure, Nat fell asleep in the back of the truck with her forehead pressed against the window and adorable snores filtering out of her nose. Eddie didn’t dare say anything out of fear of waking her, but every so often when Richie would place his hand on the gear stick, Eddie would put his hand there too with a smile and bask in the way Richie’s eyes would crinkle in return.  
The journey back to Eddie’s house seemed shorter than the journey to the rink, the impending doom of once again being trapped with his mother was somewhat alleviated by the fact that he could just nap for another hour or two and then pack before she even woke up. Still, his stomach was in knots when he felt the truck begin to slow, Richie not parking up on the curb as to not wake his sister. 

“Thank you, you know,” Eddie sounded much more composed in his head, “Thanks for this evening, I needed it.”

“Anything for my little Eddiekins,” Richie made a few quiet smooching sounds and jokingly pushed him towards the door, his hand lingering on Eddie’s shoulder in a way that sent sparks to his stomach, “Now go on, I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“Don’t miss me too hard,” Eddie teased, leaning on the window for one last look at Richie in the reddened morning light. For a second, he thought there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give to make it a regular sight.

“Oh, Eds, baby. I’m always hard for you.”

Without thinking, Eddie found himself reaching through the open window and grabbing onto the collar of Richie’s leather jacket, pulling him in for a quick, sharp kiss. The whole ordeal itself only lasted seconds and was nothing like the kiss at the drive-in, that had been heavy and passionate- this was a bolt of lightning striking light yet deadly between them. Eddie was shocked to see that Richie looked even more flustered than he did, his face burning brighter than the sky behind them.

“W-wow…” Richie mumbled, “I did not see that-“

“I’ll see you on Tuesday, Rich,” Eddie turned on his heel and made his trek back around the house and up the drainpipe.

Richie stayed until he waved him away from his window, eventually driving off into the distance whilst all Eddie could do was collapse into his pillows and fall asleep- much too scared to think about anything that had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, after like well over half a month it's finally here. This was meant to be a fluffy little filler chapter to flesh things out a bit and instead, it turned into a near 10k monster that's like, the second-longest chapter so far.
> 
> As always, I read all of the comments on here and I'm going to start trying to respond to more, but I'm most active on my Tumblr (@literary-shitstorm) so don't be afraid to come and talk to me over there. I really fucking hope you enjoyed it! (that sounded a lot less aggressive in my head).
> 
> P.S. If anyone has any criticism/comments on how it's written, I'd love to know: Do you guys like my writing style? Is there anything I could change to make it go down easier? Am I moving too fast? Thank you!


	7. Playing Richie Tozier: Act Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, if you're binge reading this then don't worry but if you're reading it as it's updated then you might want to go back and skim over the first part of Richie's story to remind yourself.
> 
> Also, warning for drugs and Richie being a depressed bitch: but you knew that already

At the start, Bill finding out about Richie’s _problem_ somewhat motivated him to quit.

Well, quit is a strong word. Bill’s knowledge of the things that Richie got up to when his door was locked was enough to make his stomach churn whenever he saw his friend, which coincidentally, was every day considering they lived together. The looks were the worst part of it, the pitiful, puppy-eyed stares Bill would give him on Friday nights when he was sat watching some old black and white movie rerun and Richie would come slinking downstairs at 3 am.

Bill would stare straight through him. His throat would contract and his Adam’s Apple would bob and he would stare at Richie because unlike anybody else, he knew that Richie was high and even though Richie most definitely was, there was something about those eyes that fucking ruined him. Those eyes were connected to a brain that knew something that it _shouldn’t_ and that was enough to send the both of them round the bend.

Bev and Mike had to have noticed how Bill barely said anything anymore when they hung out; every so often he would spit out a few things about practice or laugh at the punchline of an odd joke but he barely said anything and Richie knew it was because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide he would lose control of his tongue and then the words would come out without him wanting them to.

 _Fucking good_ , Richie’s mind spat more often than not, _now he knows what it’s like to be you_.

Bill got his revenge at practice though. The Captain pushed him harder than he had ever been pushed in his life: forced him to do drill after drill after drill. Richie would skate until the bruises on his knees tore open like ripe blackberries, gushing because of all of the times they would hit the ice. His entire body was battered and aching, but his mind was what was really tearing him apart- because most of the time Richie was high and Bill forced him to _focus_. Bill made it so that Richie had to use that big 5.0 GPA of his in front of the entire team, made him solve problems and come up with tactics and strategies, asked for his opinion out in the open for everyone to see.

Long story short, Bill was really fucking killing his buzz.

Richie tried to be sober, he honestly did. Each time he used he would do his very best to elongate the time between that and his next dose, doing everything he could to speed up the minutes that seemed to drag agonizingly slow; normally, he would be relatively okay, he could go a day or two without a hit. Richie had never been someone that most would consider a romantic, he was almost worryingly pessimistic about such topics, but he could say without a doubt that the saying was true: absence does make the heart grow fonder.

There would be times he needed to use, needed to more than anything else. Those times when he would begin to break out into a sweat and there was no number of times that he could wipe the droplets off his brow because they’d always appear again. Those times when he would begin to feel his muscles spasming below his desk in American Lit and Stan Uris would give him a funny look and ask him if he was okay. _‘I’m doing great, dude, as fucking sick as can be.’_ Those times the sadness would crawl so far up his throat that his entire body felt like it was covered in weights and every thought felt like he was filleting his brain and all he wanted to do was sleep, not even caring if he woke up again.

Those were the times he needed to use. When he was aching for it. It was almost funny in his mind, the way he could practically hear his veins screaming _pick me, pick me_ despite the fact they were already so bruised and bloody, practically collapsing. His arms almost looked like cobwebs, a highway of capillaries and vessels that he got more and more tangled in with every look. Oh, the be the fly waiting for the spider to come and just _get it over with already_.

Turns out, after Bill found out, Richie actually started using more than he had ever done before. The finish line of sobriety morphed into nothing more than a fever dream, a place where he once started in the good old days and could recall with a disdainful haziness. Drugs had long since stopped being something that he partook in for a nice buzz; they were the trick to his survival- they had to be because every time he wasn’t using he wanted to die. If there was any reason to continue that his mind could suffice that was it, surely his friends and family would rather him be high than dead, right?

It wasn’t a steep incline, barely noticeable to Richie himself (although he wasn’t exactly at the top of the list for those with the ability to think logically). Each day it was a drop more than the previous, a bead on the end of a needle that provided a new bite to the world, splashed it in a new color. Each time, no matter how much he lied and told himself they were getting longer and longer between, the sink of the tip into his arm became something that cycled through every few hours.

Christ almighty- he was taking a hit every few _hours_.

The first thought that graced the chambers of his mind the moment he was allowed enough coherency to form viable, reasonable thoughts- it was the first time in a while- was _‘this is not sustainable’_. It was true, semi-sober Richie isn’t as much of an idiot as everyone makes him out to be, but high Richie quickly made his grand return and his second thought was something along the blurred lines of _‘yeah, so fucking what?’_.

Hiding what most would consider a descent into madness was just about as hard as one would imagine. Richie’s biggest challenge was maintaining that veil of normality; he’d never exactly been an ordinary kid (something that seemed to work in his favor) but the need to dance around his classes and practices and friend groups with a smile on his face and his usual laidback attitude was slowly and painfully wasting him away. It was a different sort of pain to the agony of needing a hit: that type of pain was sharp and violent and it burst through his body in waves of terror that left him shaking and retching on the floor, this type of pain and a slow, burning anguish that fizzled in his chest and gnawed at his insecurities, more often than not leaving him in a puddle of tears each evening.

It was kind of impressive, actually. He’d really gone and done it.

He’d fucked himself all the way to the point of no return.

* * *

To Richie it had just been setting itself up like a normal day of highs and lows (no pun intended), he hadn’t expected Ms. Beverly Marsh to burst into his room first thing in the morning and he certainly hadn’t expected her to scream when she saw him, belt pulled taught around his bicep and a needle sunk halfway into the crook of his elbow.

The flood of emotion that hit him in one, almost immediate, sensation was painful; the burn of motorcycle tires grinding themselves in a loop around him stomach, setting every nerve alight in a way not far off from a high- only this high made his stomach churn and acid bite at the back of his neck. There was no such thing as blissful silence in uncomfortable sobriety.

There had been a few seconds- maybe even a few minutes after that- where neither of them had said anything, just stared at one and other with equal parts fear and, somewhere, disgust. She was afraid; good, she should be. He could see it in the way here pupils were drawn tight and small and her whole body was stiff enough to belong in a coffin, aside from the way her left hand twitched into her sweats. She was disgusted because _who wouldn’t be?_ Whether they know it or not, addicts are the butt of society's sickest jokes; homeless- probably an addict, fucked up a relationship- that’s no reason to turn to drugs and,. lastly, who do they have to blame- nobody but themselves. There was no emotion that ran alongside addiction quite like disgust.

Nobody had come thundering up the stairs, thank fuck, because that most likely meant that there was no one else there. Just them. Bill was probably out on a run or at Mike’s. Bowers’ gang had probably gone out the night before and were just about breathing on the side of a road somewhere outside campus. It was just them.

Richie watched the few times that she tried to form words in her throat, the way it would contract, she would swallow, and her lips would part slightly but only air ever came out, just a disbelieving huff- once or twice she’d even stumbled backward. It hurt to see the look in eyes, different to the look on her face, but a look he had seen too many times, nonetheless. He’d witness the same stormy disappointment in the eyes of his sister the first time she’d caught him coming home high, he’d suffered through the same look from his father the first time he’d gotten kicked out of school.

He was teetering just above rock bottom, all he needed was one more little-

“Sup, sunshine? Want a hit?”

Smack. _Rock bottom_.

Within seconds she was in front of him, brows pulled taught in a deep frown that drew v’s over her place forehead. The comprehension of the action came before the feeling itself; as though it were in slow motion, he saw her hand raising ever so slightly out of the corner of his eye, saw in getting closer and closer until he could practically make out the swirl of her fingerprints.

 _Smack. Wow, it got_ worse.

“ _Oh my god, I’m sorry_ ,” She drew her hand back across her face, burning just as red as his own only without the handprint to go with it, “Richie, oh god, Richie what have you done?”

“Can we talk about this when I don’t have a needle in my arm?” Richie found himself watching the way she winced as he pulled the damned thing out, muscle memory taking over and allowing him to go through the motions with a second thought. Part of him was still screaming inside, begging for a high he was sure wouldn’t be coming any time soon- ever the addict.

“Everybody said…” She trailed off, eyes darting around everywhere but the needle, now lying at his bedside, “You were supposed to be clean. Was it me? Rich? Was it the weed?”

“Oh no,” Now, that got his attention; there was no way he could deal with this shit with Bev thinking that she was responsible. Everybody else had come to terms with the fact that his fuck ups were his and his alone, even his mother knew that there was nothing she could have done to prevent him from turning out the way that he did, “Beverly Marsh, listen to me. This _not_ you. Listen. You played no part in this, I would have still been getting high regardless of how much pot we smoked sat on the side of the road in the middle of the night, okay? Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“Then tell me why, Rich.”

“What?” All of the moisture that had collected in his throat seemed to have been zapped away in an instant, the word coming out as nothing more than a dry croak as he packed away his paraphernalia and curled his legs up towards his chest.

“Why are you using? Why are you getting high?” Bev paused for a second, settling herself on the bed next to him with a decidedly mothering look in her eyes, “I’m not angry. I’m not. I was just…shocked is all. I shouldn’t have slapped you-“

“I probably deserved it.” That earnt him a pointed look.

“Why, Rich?”

And that was the million-dollar question. The one that had puzzled himself and those around him for years, left his home life a wreck and was currently ruining the only decent friendship he’d ever had. Deep within his chest something was rumbling and churning, a kind of ancient monster that had never awoken itself in his mind before, a train of thought he had never dared follow to completion- that maybe, just maybe, it was time to tell the truth.

With Beverly sat in his bed with her doe eyes- hard not to.

“You’re taking this remarkably well, Ms. Marsh.”

“My father was an alcoholic, Richie. I know how to deal with addicts.”

That hurt.

“I…I don’t know,” It scathed him to admit it, to admit that he was a fraud and this his highs weren’t a way of hiding the fuck ups but that they were the fuck ups. That there was no rhyme or reason he just did it because he could. “I don’t know why but I...I just can’t stop.”

It was as though God himself opened the floodgates.

It didn’t take long for his forearms to become slick with a layer of snot and tears, large palms scrabbling over his face in a pitiful attempt to ward off the onslaught of tears that seemed to come overflowing out regardless of whether he wanted them to. Bev was quick to pull him into her chest, running soft fingers through his tangled hair and soothing him with a series of soft shushes as his entire chest heaved with the strain of forcing out what was seemingly ever single emotion he had suppressed over the last 6 or so years. He found that no matter what words he tried to form, the only phrases he could get to slip from between his lips were ‘I just can’t stop’, ‘I’m too far gone’ alongside the occasional ‘I’m sorry’.

Upon resurfacing, he realized that (and he wasn’t sure when) Mike and Bill had entered the room and were strewn out over various pieces of furniture, watching him with intent and sadness as he tried his best to fight back against the murky recesses of his own mind. Beverly, well, wasn’t actually anywhere to be seen.

“Hey, Richie,” Mike was the first one to talk, still making sure to keep to a hushed lull, “Rough day?”

“Fuck yeah, Mikey,” He scoffed out a broken laugh, “Yeah, you could say that.”

“B-Bev messaged us,” Bill added, coming to his knees up at Richie’s feet, “We k-know what happened.” So, Big Bill hadn’t told them that he knew.

“Are you guys mad?” Richie wanted to slap himself for sounding so pathetic but, honestly, it was hard not to, “I can start packing my shit-“

“W-what the fuck, R-Rich,” Bill stood up, “No. Bev’s j-just on the phone and we’re ab-out to go out to lunch.” _Fucking lunch_ , it had been just after eight when Bev walked in.

“You should probably have a shower,” Mike added thoughtfully with a bemused smile.

“You trying to tell me I stink?” The jokes came naturally, and despite himself, Richie found that he began to ease into a more relaxed state of mind. Mike always knew what to do to calm people down.

“H-He’s trying to tell you y-you look like a fucking w-wreck, Rich,” Bill quipped, “G-Go shower.”

“Only if you big sexy boys join me,” Richie teased, finding his way to his feet like some dysfunctional newborn deer. The wetness still lingering in his voice took away from the snap of the joke, but the words felt better nonetheless.

By the time he got out of the shower, the rest of his friends were packed and ready, looking flawless as ever. He would be an idiot not to wonder how he ended up in a group like that, filled with people not only so _goddamn_ attractive but so kind; kind enough to still smile at him with so much love as he stumbled around like a maniac trying to pull on his jeans.

Bill had ended up in the driver’s seat, offering to take them somewhere filled with only the most disgustingly greasy food and promising a later-in-life coronary to go with it. There was some bliss in the fact that (for now, at least) his friends seemed to just be carrying on as though nothing had happened, that they were just going out for a meal like they did more often than any of them would care to admit- they were acting like they hadn’t just found Richie at his lowest low shooting drugs up into his fucking arms.

Key word, acting.

The niggling little voice screamed in the back of his head louder than he had heard it in years, no longer muffled by layers of medications and ripe to fill him with all kinds of doubts about anything and everything. _They just feel bad for you, they’re only taking you to say goodbye. You’re a disgrace. Look at you, you’ve ruined their day. Why should they have to make time for an addict like you._ It took all of his power to stifle the groan that was building in his throat as his stomach began to twist and twirl and cramp; his hand was almost constantly coming to his brow to wipe away the sheen of sweat that had made its home there.

In no time at all, they were pulling into some diner off the main road, nestled behind a cove and trees and decorated with a retro 80s theme that in any other mood would have made Richie smile with glee, but his head felt like somebody was drilling it with a fucking jackhammer and his glasses were doing nothing to make the world any less blurry.

He noiselessly allowed himself to be ushered into a seat somewhere outside; he felt rude just waving off the bubbly waitress and letting the others order for him, he be wasn’t sure he could have found the words even if he tried. None of them said anything when he lit a cigarette and tipped himself back to look at the sky, the vague sounds of them chattering echoed around his eardrums. It was nothing even remotely intelligible and before he could blink, there was a greasy burger sat in front of him, loaded with cheese and bacon.

“You look like you haven’t eaten in months,” Mike rubbed a hand between his shoulders, forcing him to jump out of his skin, “We’ll talk when you’ve finished.” It was hard for Richie to say no to that bright white smile and the warmth of his hand on his back. Mike didn’t say anything when he leaned into the contact, just raised his arm even higher so it was settled around Richie’s shoulders and let him bask in the heat of another living, breathing body.

The burger went down slowly in heavy chunks that almost made him want to gasp for air. It was only when the muscle had started to drop from his frame a month or two prior that he realized how often he forgot to eat when he was high- all bodily functions seemed to fade into the nothingness like all else that was important. The feeling of the food was dense in his stomach and he found himself shifting uncomfortably at the sensation. He found himself slowing down, taking longer to swallow; partially because he was fuller than he’d been in years, partially because he dreaded the conversation that was going to take place after.

But eventually the time came when there was nothing left on his plate but a Pollock painting of sauce, cheese and a few bits and pieces of lettuce and all of his friends were staring at him, waiting for him to look up so that they could finally begin their ascent down on top of him and crush him like a bug.

“You’re going on holiday, Rich,” Bev’s usual bubbly tone perked out. _That was not what he had expected to hear_. “I personally think you’re going to have a great time.”

“What?” He hoped that his incredulous tone matched just how skeptical he felt on the inside, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the table burned into his hands, “What does that even mean?”

“W-We’re going to pull off the greatest s-stunt in history,” Bill smirked, eyes full of mischief.

Without giving anything away, Bev pushed a brown envelope across the table, and he found himself wondering where it came from because she certainly didn’t have it when they walked in. The thing felt oddly weighted in his palm and the adhesive seemed stickier than anything he had ever felt (there’s a joke in there somewhere). Eventually, he got it open and…well, he had absolutely no idea how to feel about the papers staring back at him.

_**Neibolt Drug & Alcohol Rehab Facility  
Neibolt Street  
Derry, Maine** _

_Hello Mr. Richie Tozier, your application has been successful, and you are booked in for a three-month stay at our wonderful facility here in Derry. We will support you through your rehabilitation and do everything we can to ensure that you get any kind of psychological or physical treatment you need during your stay with us…_

“What kind of psychopath goes on holiday to Maine?” Was the only thing he could splutter out, utterly unable to process the words in front of him.

A weight seemed to remove itself from his chest when all three of his companions burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter, Bev clinging onto Bill with all she could muster to try and keep herself seated.

“I suppose you’re right,” She eventually mused, still catching her breath, “But its one of the best ones we could find at such short notice.”

“This isn’t serious,” Richie found himself snorting in spite of the turmoil burning behind his eyes, “I mean, guys, Bev, this shit is expensive as fuck, I would know, I’ve looked into it. Some swanky place like this must cost thousands. I’m at college, for fuck's sake, on a scholarship that stands on the basis that I _don’t_ use drugs- I’m not gone yet but wouldn’t rehab kind of be giving the game away.”

“T-That’s why we’re going to l-lie to them,” Bill huffed out, as though Richie was the stupid one, “B-By the way, I-I hope you weren’t too i-in love with your G-Great Aunt Jemimah.”

“Okay, what the fuck?”

“We’re going to tell the school that your Aunt is dying so you need to stay with her until she passes,” Mike filled in, helpful as ever, “You’ll say that you’ll take your classes online and that we’ll come and see you every weekend to take you notes. It’ll just so happen that it’ll be three months before Aunt Jemimah passes away.”

“Notes from who?”

“W-We’ll make you notes for Sports Science,” Bill rolled his eyes, clearly thrilled about that concept, “Bev said that S-Stan Uris will take you notes for American Lit. He didn’t ask questions.”

For no longer than a second, Richie felt the slightest flicker of what just might have been hope burning in the pit of his stomach, excitement that for once the fantasy of getting clean and being able to live free from the shackles of addiction was more than just a fantasy. That maybe he could actually be himself again and hope that he wasn’t some wacko nutjob and who was just as bad as he was now.

“Bev,” Richie knew that she was the center of all this, this was a Beverly Marsh idea if he had ever seen one. She’d been fairly quiet the whole time, just watching the rest of them converse with a sad smile, “Bev. I told you, this shit’s expensive. H-How…and why? You can’t just have that much money lying around- no offense.”

“When I’m not at school I stay with my Aunt now- in Derry, so fuck you and your who the fuck goes on holiday to Maine, asshole-“ They all chuckled at that, “My dad died a few years ago-“

“Beverly Marsh, I will not take your father’s death money.”

“I told you earlier, he was an addict too, Rich. Sure, it wasn’t drugs but it was alcohol and he was just as fucked as you will be if you carry on the way that you are. My aunt agrees we don’t need the money, she has more than enough anyway. It’s better going to a good cause than just rotting away in a bank somewhere not doing any good to anybody. This could change your life, Rich, it’s worth it.”

There was a minute or so of silence after that; nobody really had the words to respond to such a statement. All they did was sit and watch as a few stray tears dribbled from Richie’s eyes (he found himself making no effort to dab them away) because the phrase ‘it’s worth it’ was playing on a loop behind his eyelids, appearing in his brain in a variety of different fonts and tones but ultimately meaning the same thing.

“Thank you…Thank you, guys,” Richie mumbled, “You’ve done more for me than anyone else and… I love you.”

“W-We love you too, Rich,” Bill dragged all of them in for a hug in spite of the table sat in their way, “Now w-who’s gonna kick a-ass and go and get clean?”

“Fuck, I guess that’s me.”

* * *

Turns out, Rehab is pretty exciting- _said no one_.

If Richie had known that he was checking himself into somewhere that prided itself on being painfully mundane to ‘restore patients back to a simpler style of life’, he probably wouldn’t have been so eager to sign all of the forms.

The whole place wreaked of disinfectant with a weak layer of incense over the top, a quite frankly pitiful attempt to hide the stench of bleach that hung off every fabric surface. When he’d looked up facilities on his phone, he’d read that they could be reasonably cozy and comfortable places to stay- like a decent hotel on a good day and an infuriatingly therapeutic prison on bad ones. He hadn’t been expecting the whole thing to be so _sterile_ , the old house itself was crooked and banged-up in many ways, but most of the walls had been painted an almost psychedelic shade of white that welcomed absolutely no warmth.

All of the staff were pretty strict on different types of clothing (in all honesty, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why), he was told on his first day that it was preferred if he wore soft things: sweaters, sweatpants- they gave him some kickass socks. In the beginning, that had been one of the upsides, his entire life Richie had found himself longing for the day that it would be deemed socially acceptable for him to spend his days in sweats with no threat of some middle-aged woman telling him to smarten up a bit.

With his luck, that still happened.

Apparently wearing a sweater that had _#1 Pussy Eater_ emblazoned on the back was not appropriate for the ‘calm and soothing’ aura they were trying to promote within the facility. Turns out, a lot of Richie’s sweaters had inappropriate things written on them- quite frankly he’s lucky they never saw the _Putting the Pee in Penis_ one. Instead, they supplied him with an itchy, wretched grey thing that was a size XXXL and showed off far too much collarbone for his liking.

He was really getting sick of having to pull the sleeves up over his hands. At least he didn’t have to deal with the stares his arms got when he wore t-shirts.

One of the oddest parts of his rehab experience was his therapist, Dr. Robert Grey. Richie very quickly learned that he wasn’t a fan of group therapy, despite having to attend two sessions a day; there was something about the whole ordeal of sitting in a circle so quiet that the only thing he could hear was the air conditioning as some bright-eyed smiling nurse sat and prompted everyone to share how they’re feeling, share their experiences like any of them want to go back and face the shitty things they’ve done in a room full of people.

Dr. Grey was nice enough. Part of him made Richie want to run away on sight, the way that the man would lumber around the hallways during evening checks to make sure that Richie had taken his medication (yes, he had that now- ADHD and Depression, baby) and turn the lights off in time for bed, leaving his silhouette to be the final thing imprinted in the shadows at night. _Yeesh_. Sometimes, when Richie would be talking to him, it would be hard to focus- and not laugh- because of the way that his eyes would seem to drift outward ever so slightly, giving the man a fairly vacant look.

But that was all nulled by the fact that Dr. Grey seemed to understand the things that he talked about, understand the thoughts that plagued Richie’s mind in ways that he thought nobody would ever be able to rationalize- let alone himself. Dr. Grey supplied him with a chain of simple solutions to problems that had baffled his mind for years, showed him ways to understand his own mind from a different perspective without just entering some kind of meltdown.

Of course, there were bad days. There were days, particularly in the first few weeks, where he hadn’t had the energy to get out of bed, screaming at the nurses who dared knock on his door to try and coax him out from under the sheets. For hours, it had felt like those sterile white walls were teasing him, tearing his mind apart with their blatant brightness when he wanted nothing more than to curl up into the darkness and let it whisk him away. On those days, Dr Grey usually came for their session in Richie’s room around noon, situating himself and his notepad in the crooked little armchair that sat beside his bed, not once asking Richie to move or even poke his head out from under the pillows. Instead, the man would just suggest that they had a chat and that if Richie felt like he wanted to respond or had anything to add to what the doctor was saying, then he could.

On those days, Dr. Grey usually wheedled him out of his room in time for dessert.

The first few weeks had been rough on the basis that he hadn’t been allowed any visitors for the first month of his stay- something about distancing patients from their previous influences and habits. He wanted to scream bullshit, tell them that the only person to blame for his problems was him, but he quickly learned that it was futile. They dealt with shit like him all the time.

Things got a lot easier when Bill, Bev, and Mike were allowed to visit; they’d still made the drive every weekend of the first month to drop off the notes for his classes, also discreetly sliding in a handwritten letter from each of them about the things that they’d been up to. They got even better when they were allowed to stay for 4 hours a week- two hours on Saturday and Sunday respectively. It had hurt that his mother hadn’t come to see him, of course, she didn’t know; the Tozier family had become practically immune to Richie’s stints in which he seemed almost allergic to returning home. Three months was nothing.

From the very first reunion, him and his gaggle declared a small, decrepit little table in the corner of the cafeteria their gathering spot for Richie’s remaining two months, tucking themselves away from the nurses and counselors who seemed to watch like hawks at any interactions they had. He always felt offended when they insisted on searching him before and after he met up with his friends (turns out, they searched them too); logically, he knew it was because they couldn’t have people bringing drugs into the facility but the process still warmed a rage in his stomach whenever it took place.

“You’re doing so great Rich,” Bev was normally the one to start the conversation, sure to get all the niceties and reconnaissance done within the first few minutes so they had more than enough time to fuck around like idiots for the remaining hours, “You look the best you’ve done since I met you.”

“Excuse you, I pulled off the skinny white boy sex appeal like a fucking god,” He made sure to spit back with no real venom and the quirk of a smile on the corner of his lips.

“Y-You know not everyone is into m-massive dicks, Rich,” Bill quipped before unfortunately realizing the error in his words, “O-Oh fuck.”

“Yeah I agree, size doesn’t matter,” Richie cooed, “It’s all about the big, thick, chunky-“

“Okay, okay, enough,” Mike snorted, “You’re going to get us chucked out of here.”

“Oh my dear Michael, how could you deprive me of my lovely penis presentation,” The words flowed out in what may as well have been a song, before Richie found himself abruptly pausing, “Seriously- and I can say this because you’re my friends- I have never needed a dicking down more in my life-“

“Rich-“

“I mean, I love both but I really just need someone to rattle my cage-“

“Richie-“

“I’d even settled for a quick motorboat of your fleabites, Ms. Marsh-“

“Mr. Tozier,” The voice that appeared behind him was a smooth, slimy one that he’d heard far too frequently over the past weeks to be unfamiliar with, “It’s nice to see you regain some of your spirit around your friends here.”

“Hey Bob,” Richie mumbled; anyone who knew him would say that it takes a lot to get him embarrassed but, well, that was certainly a lot.

“Maybe your sexuality should be something we focus on more in our sessions, no?” Richie could clearly see the amused gleam in the man’s eye, torn in half by the respective desires to cry and laugh at the same time.

“Guys, this is my doctor, Dr. Robert Grey. Bob, these are my amigos,” He filled in, watching as they all shook hands.

“I just figured that the people closest to Richie might want to know how well he’s doing,” Bob paused before offering a reserved yet reassuring smile, “He’s made excellent progress. Of course, there will always be challenges but you should be able to go back to school as usual once your stay here is over. I trust that he will have great friends to ensure that he stays on the straight and narrow.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Bill nodded with a big thumbs up; it was only at that moment that he realized all three of his friends were beaming at him with wide smiles, Mike’s hand a heavy, comforting weight on his shoulder. It didn’t take long for the doctor to disappear after that and he was instantly dragged into an almost violent hug, embracing him from all sides.

“You know, we’re so proud of you, Rich,” Bev whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, “You’ve done so good, kid.”

“Jeez, don’t do that Bev, I might blow a load.”

“F-Fucking gross, Rich.”

* * *

Adjusting to the real world after rehab had been odd and difficult; it was strange to think that the place he spent so many years of his life could become somewhere so alien. It helped that there hadn’t actually been that long left of school for the year and summer was quick to make a speedy appearance. Richie had _regrettably_ made the journey back to Maine over the summer, along with the rest of the gang, to spend the holidays with Bev and her Aunt.

The few months they had spent together had been bliss, spending warm evenings out in fields with no time to return home as the sun began to sleep in the sky above them, allowing them to bask in the red summer nights. There was nothing like lying in the grass with his closest friends in the world, muffled music droning on from the front of his truck and a faint buzz of alcohol tickling their stomachs- Richie (who had been having regular phone sessions with Dr. Grey during his time at school and even a few in-person now that he was back in Derry), was allowed to drink in moderation with people around him to ensure that he didn’t just get shit faced and fall back into old habits.

It had been good news to receive over the phone, that Bob thought he had improved enough to handle a bit of fun with friends. To know that he could be trusted, not just a loose cannon that forced everyone in his vicinity to hold their breath and wait for the explosion.

Summer had passed far too quickly for their liking; it had seemed like an instant- a moment frozen in time- before it was over. Every single one of them was laden with emotion when it came the time to sling their bags into the back of the truck and clamber on their way back to what was, essentially, home. Their summer was shortened even further by the fact that sports teams were allowed to return to their dorms a month or so before school started to commence training for the usually rapidly incoming season. It seemed fairly ridiculous considering that ice hockey season didn’t even begin anywhere before October but nonetheless, they were unpacking their clothes back into their dressers and collapsing onto dusty sheets.

Richie, for the first time in his memory, felt settled. The urge to use still ticked over the back of his brain like a constant chime, a warning bell always going off at a low volume to tease him into remembering the sheer bliss that he was missing out on. Once an addict, always an addict. Something people didn’t say though was that he could be an addict and not be addicted to anything- sure, those traits would never leave him, but he didn’t have to let them dictate his life. He did everything he could do, went to therapy, did his drug checks legitimately, took his medications, and stayed honest with his friends. Their training for the season was going better than they’d ever hoped- sure Bowers was being a homophobic bully but what was new about that? Richie was on top of the world and then-

Boom.

There was _Eddie fucking Kaspbrak_.

Oh boy, Richie wanted to throttle him when they’d first met. Eddie seemed like everything that Richie had both hated and feared over the course of his life, somebody who would judge him for every movement he made and criticize his every action- he had that almost demonic look in his eye, constantly surveying the world around him like some kind of uptight army sergeant put on Earth with the pure purpose of enforcing rules upon his subordinates.

As it happened, he hadn’t actually been that far off. Eddie was just as rigorous and forceful as Richie had anticipated he would be, but he found that there was something oddly charming hidden beneath his counterpart’s cynical judgments and seemingly untapped revisor of untapped rage. The night at the diner had been a magical experience for both of them, drawn away from the rest of the world with the opportunity to solely focus on the other. In just a few hours they had come to know each other, Richie had fallen in love with the way that Eddie would huff and push his hands through his gelled blonde locks, causing a few stray pieces to fall into his face that he was far too focussed on to push back, or the way that he would raise his eyebrows and lean forward with an exclamation of _‘can you believe that?’_ after reciting some kind of absurd ritual his mother made him go through as a child. The man was surprisingly dirty, filled with a multitude of obviously criminally underused inappropriate jokes that left Richie squealing like some kind of infant.

He’d actually been looking forward to his and Eddie’s study date.

But then his mother had called him that morning, the sound of tears heavy in her voice as she asked him if he could take Nat for the rest of the day, take her out for ice cream or bowling, just any way to get her away from whatever was going on at home. Of course, Richie couldn’t say no, he’d dropped everything and swung out of bed with just his sweats on, barking a promise to text Bev what had happened once he was somewhere more settled with his little sister safely tucked away in the back of his truck. Anything to do with Eddie Kaspbrak had faded into background noise, which apparently, wasn’t enough for him.

Richie had seen red when the call from his Professor had come through, telling him that he had a meeting with both him and the school counselor later that day (along with what turned out to be a ‘surprise’ drug test) all because he failed to show up for some stupid study date. It was hard to keep still as Eddie’s email was read out to him, his entire body twitching with the sensation of hot lava. The whole thing was on speakerphone, Bev sat next to him, biting her nails and she listened to them rattle off about a mistake he hadn’t even made- no, it was just one they had expected.

After the incident in the library, he stormed straight into some ratty convenience store and brought the first pack of cigarettes he saw, already pulling the lighter he could never bring himself to throw away out of the pocket of his jacket. It had been a symbol of strength, a reminder of the things that he had pulled through always on his person.

All of sudden it was just a lighter again.

Bev had sat next to him on the curb whilst he smoked it; he didn’t offer it to her, she would decline for his sake, he already knew. She did, however, when he reached for a second pulled the pack from his hands and tip half of them in the gutter, leaving him with only four left to get through. A compromise, then. Nothing was said between the two of them, she simply knew to let the action run its course with the hopes that he would simmer down by the time the sun set and settle into bed without a weight on his shoulders.

Then things with Eddie had become more chipper- and had stayed that way, a surprise to both parties, Richie assumed. He’d always snorted at the way people would giggle and go ‘oh, you know us, opposites attract and all that’, _yeah, bullshit_. But oh no, Eddie made him want to scream it from the rooftops, he wanted to bury the boy in his jackets and his music and his truck until Eddie screamed Richie backed to him and they both knew that two opposites had the ability to become one and the same. Richie’s heart couldn’t help but swell watching the way that Eddie interacted with those that he loved; Nat, his mother, Steph. It was hard not to imagine him becoming a permanent fixture.

It was a shame that the entrance of Eddie Kaspbrak seemed to make his life fall apart. Before his very eyes, his parents were separating, the foundation of everything he knew was crumbling. His asshole of a father was taking everything and leaving his mother and baby- _Jesus fucking Christ she’s only a baby_ \- of a sister alone to fend for themselves with nowhere to call home and nowhere to pack up and get off to. His siblings were fighting in some kind of blown out civil war, the group chat between him, Johnny and Steph was blowing up, they were talking more than they ever had only it wasn’t exactly hugs and kisses.

It was a shame that it turned out Eddie did hate Richie’s drug habit, past or present, because he needed a hit more than he ever had in his life.

Oh, what a shame it was that nothing in his life went hand in hand quite like Eddie Kaspbrak and addiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys want to know a fact? I wrote this whole thing in advance chapters ago because I had originally planned to release this part a lot sooner in the story, but the entire thing got deleted and I had to do it all again. I'm glad that I did because I think it turned out much better this time round.
> 
> I hope you are all enjoying the story and its not too far-fetched, I just hope y'all know I read every single comment and squeal over it for like 5 minutes.
> 
> If you guys have any questions or things or just wanna check me out my Tumblr is @literary-shitstorm, see you there! Until, next time!

**Author's Note:**

> so, I started writing this a few months back and got about 4 chapters done. I was planning to finish it before I released any of it but oh well, here I am regardless? 
> 
> I put a post up on my Tumblr (@literary-shitstorm, if you want to go and talk to me there) and a few people wanted it soooo...
> 
> I hope you enjoy :) there's more to come


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